THIS 

LABYRINTHINE 

LIFE 


!  i 


GEORGE 

ALEXANDER 

FISCHER 


•FTHJ3 

umnmttY 

OF 


In   the  midst  loomed  up  the  giant  cacti. 


This 
Labyrinthine  Life 

A  Tale  of  the  Arizona  Desert 


BY 


GEORGE   ALEXANDER   FISCHER 

Author  of 
BEETHOVEN:    A  CHARACTER  STUDY 


...   be  to  other  souls 
The  cup  of  strength  in  some  great  agony- 
George  Eliot:   The  Choir  Invisible. 


B.    W.    DODGE    fcf    CO. 

NEW    YORK  :::::::::::::::  1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
GEORGE  ALEXANDER   FISCHER 


THE   TROW    PRESS   •    NEW   YORK 


<?6I 

FSZ9A 

ike 


FOREWORD 

We  have  as  yet  no  conception  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  desert  from  the  point  of  view  of 
health.  We  know  to  some  extent  what  it  means 
to  the  tuberculous,  but  it  means  still  more  to  the 
overworked,  the  unhappy,  those  on  the  verge  of 
nervous  prostration,  professional  men  after  a  par- 
ticularly hard  siege — those  who  in  any  manner 
have  drawn  too  heavily  on  their  nerve  force.  It 
is  the  place  where  even  in  a  short  sojourn  one 
grows  younger,  given  favoring  conditions. 


MT01487 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


In  the  midst  loomed  up  the  giant  cacti  .         .        .  Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

It  was  an  initiation  into  a  new  world  of  thought — this 
revelation  of  the  music  of  the  Polish  master  which 
took  place  through  his  partner's  instrumentality     .      160 

Threading  their  way  in  among  hillocks  and  mountains, 

gradually  ascending     .......      206 

Toyed  with  the  fancy  that  the  genii  had  awakened 
him  with  the  purpose  of  showing  him  the  beauty 
of  the  desert  night 325 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

CHAPTER    I 

"TT  THAT'S  Branscombe's  little  game  any- 
W  way?  To  think  of  a  man  in  good 
health  planking  himself  down  in  a  lungers'  camp 
on  the  desert  when  he  doesn't  have  to!  If  he 
were  caring  for  a  sick  wife  or  other  relative  it 
would  be  different.     He  makes  me  tired." 

The  question  was  propounded  by  Arthur  White, 
president  of  the  Lungers'  Association  of  Arizona, 
a  local  organization  formed  for  purely  social  pur- 
poses, eligibility  to  which  was  restricted  to  males 
of  the  age  of  twenty-one  or  over  having  defective 
lungs.  For  obvious  reasons,  initiatory  ceremonies 
in  the  L.  A.  A.,  by  which  abbreviation  the  Club 
was  usually  referred  to,  were  postponed  pending 
the  recovery  of  the  applicant,  an  outcome  confi- 
dently looked  forward  to  by  each  individual 
member. 

The  better  to  facilitate  this  desired  consum- 
mation, a  huge  reward  of  merit,  beautifully  en- 
grossed by  one  of  the  occupants  of  the   Camp, 

7 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

containing  many  flourishes,  and  made  up  largely 
of  "  whereases  "  and  "  wherefores,"  was  offered 
as  a  prize  to  the  first  club-member  recovering  to 
the  extent  of  enabling  him  to  undertake  some  oc- 
cupation as  a  means  of  making  a  livelihood. 

There  were  a  few  ineligibles  in  the  Camp,  ro- 
bust, healthy  individuals,  usually  one  of  a  married 
couple,  husband  or  wife,  who  had  accompanied 
the  invalid  to  the  desert  country.  With  an  as- 
sumption of  it  being  a  great  deprivation,  these 
were  rigidly  debarred  from  all  participation  in 
the  proceedings  of  the  Club.  On  the  approach 
of  one  of  these  derelicts,  even  though  the  others 
were  discussing  the  most  commonplace  topics,  an 
ostentatious  lowering  of  the  voice,  an  air  of  mys- 
tery extravagantly  assumed,  conveyed  an  intima- 
tion to  these  healthy  ones  of  being  in  the  minority, 
of  exclusion  from  privileges  confined  solely  to  the 
others.  It  was  a  good  example  of  the  all-pervad- 
ing Western  humor,  and  of  the  ready  adaptation 
of  the  newcomer  to  it. 

The  situation  of  the  invalid  on  the  Arizona 
desert,  thousands  of  miles  from  home  and  family, 
grappling  with  a  disease  like  consumption,  gener- 
ally with  insufficient  means,  would  not  seem  to  be 
one  from  which  humor  could  easily  be  evolved; 
yet  it  came  to  the  surface  constantly  among  them, 
often  on  the  slightest  provocation.     Though  the 

8 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

Great  Enemy  hovered  near,  sometimes  indeed 
coming  perilously  close  following  on  some  slight 
imprudence,  his  presence  was  ignored.  Though 
the  spectre  sat  at  the  feast — perhaps  because  of 
his  very  proximity — this  lightsomeness  came  all 
the  more  to  be  indulged  in. 

The  wisdom  of  this  course  was  apparent.  By 
treating  the  subject  humorously,  the  disease  was 
robbed  of  half  its  terrors.  The  very  fact  that 
there  were  a  number  of  them  associated  together, 
all  in  the  same  predicament,  begat  confidence. 
They  realized,  even  here,  that  strength  lies  in 
union.  In  thus  giving  expression  to  their  sense 
of  humor  they  showed  how  heroically  they  could 
rise  superior  to  fate. 

Or  it  may  have  been  a  defiance  of  fate;  a  re- 
prisal to  the  Enemy  for  what  they  had  endured; 
a  meeting  of  the  Bony  Scytheman  face  to  face 
without  cringing,  now  that  recovery  seemed  pos- 
sible ;  a  casting  back — an  assertion  that  the  victim 
had  risen  superior  to  former  conditions  and  was 
to  be  terrorized  no  more.  In  furtherance  of  this 
sentiment,  they  had  even  elected  White,  the  wag 
of  the  Camp,  to  the  post  of  Chief  Undertaker,  on 
account  of  the  attitude  of  solemnity  he  was  able 
to  assume  on  occasion,  and  the  threat,  "  White'll 
get  you  yet  if  you  don't  look  out,"  was  always 
potent  to  prevent  a  contemplated  imprudence. 

9 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Nicknames  were  served  around  impartially, 
usually  with  a  humorous  application.  Thus,  Mr. 
Hargrave  Jamison,  of  Boston,  a  man  of  family, 
sedate  and  dignified,  as  became  that  condition  in 
a  company  made  up  largely  of  bachelors — who 
went  about  with  an  air  like  that  of  a  Supreme 
Court  judge,  soon  came  to  be  called  "  Jimmy  " 
by  some  of  the  leading  spirits  of  the  Club. 

It  was  an  aggregation  of  campers,  not  an  or- 
ganized camp.  The  spot  they  were  on  was  un- 
cultivated land,  hence  desert,  overgrown  with 
sagebrush  and  mesquite.  It  had  the  advantage 
of  being  not  far  from  the  terminus  of  the  car  line. 
Water,  that  great  necessity  in  a  dry  land,  had  to 
be  carried  an  eighth  of  a  mile. 

Though  the  health-seekers  had  come  from  every 
part  of  the  country,  all  strangers  to  each  other  on 
arriving,  the  comradery  engendered  by  camp  life, 
soon  made  them  feel  like  old  friends,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  little  paths  were  worn  from  tent 
to  tent.  True,  when  they  called,  they  usually  came 
for  something — either  requiring  advice  about  cook- 
ing, being  for  the  most  part  unused  to  housekeep- 
ing mysteries,  or  to  borrow  something  that  they 
lacked  for  the  meal  they  were  preparing,  but  it  is 
only  justice  to  them  to  add  that  they  made  it  a 
point  to  return  whatever  they  came  for,  whether 
it  was  advice  or  groceries. 

10 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

This  comradery,  this  spirit  of  helpfulness  tow- 
ard, and  dependence  on,  one  another,  which  made 
the  life  pleasanter  for  each,  was  largely  due  to 
the  initiative  of  a  woman,  a  Mrs.  Williams,  who 
had  come  to  Arizona  with  her  husband  on  account 
of  his  health,  and  whose  tact  and  ability  in  pro- 
moting a  kindly  feeling  one  to  the  other,  were 
frequently  exercised.  She  initiated  the  teachable 
ones  into  the  mysteries  of  cooking;  the  helpless 
she  invited  frequently  to  her  own  table,  and  soon 
came  to  be  regarded  as  the  Dean  of  the  Camp. 

They  were  sunning  themselves  in  front  of  one 
of  the  larger  tents,  sitting  about  on  boxes  or  stools, 
resting  after  the  exertion  of  preparing  breakfast. 
They  were  mostly  young  fellows  under  thirty,  al- 
though a  few  were  verging  on  middle  age. 

"  Something's  back  of  it,"  said  John  Stevenson, 
with  an  air  of  having  exclusive  knowledge  up  his 
sleeve,  which  was  now  to  be  disclosed.  "  It's 
something  other  than  a  desire  to  commune  with 
Nature  that  has  driven  him  out  here,  you  bet !  " 
Then,  after  a  pause  to  make  the  announcement 
more  impressive:  "He's  been  disappointed  in 
some  girl!  That's  what's  the  matter  with  him. 
Your  Uncle  Dudley  don't  carry  his  eyes  in  the 
back  of  his  head." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  No  one  told  me,  but  that's  the  way  it  always 
ii 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

is  in  books  when  they  turn  their  backs  on  their 
kind.     It's  always  a  girl,"  wound  up  Stevenson. 

"  It  can't  be  a  girl,  Stevie,"  said  White,  with  an 
air  of  finality.  White  was  a  man  of  many  moods, 
imaginative  to  the  last  degree,  influenced  by  his 
susceptibilities  in  myriads  of  different  directions — 
so  impressionable  that  he  was  apt  to  adopt  for  the 
time  being  the  prevailing  characteristics  of  any 
prominent  figure,  whether  in  fiction  or  in  real  life, 
that  happened  to  take  his  fancy.  Just  now  his 
role  was  that  of  a  cynic.  "  It  can't  be  a  girl ; 
when  a  man  gets  to  be  forty,  he  don't  go  to  no 
desert  on  account  of  a  girl.  He's  got  over  that 
kind  of  thing  by  that  time,  you  bet !  You'll  have 
to  guess  again,  Stevie." 

"  Perhaps  he's  the  mysterious  benefactor  who's 
putting  down  the  well,  and  is  going  to  pipe  the 
water  to  our  tents." 

A  shout  of  derision  greeted  this  sally,  and  cries 
of,  "That's  likely,"  and  "  Not  he!"  indicated 
the  degree  of  popularity  in  which  Branscombe  was 
held  in  the  Camp. 

"  I'd  be  more  likely  to  take  him  for  a  mysteri- 
ous malefactor  hiding  from  justice,"  said  White 
melodramatically.  "  He  may  be  a  forger  using 
our  Camp  for  a  shelter." 

"  It  can't  exactly  be  said  to  be  our  Camp,  since 
he  was  here  ahead  of  any  of  us;  in  reality,  it  is 

12 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

we  that  have  butted  in  on  him,"  said  Stevenson. 
"  Give  him  a  show,  boys." 

"  Why  did  he  want  us  to  take  him  for  a 
lunger,"  rejoined  White,  "  if  he's  on  the  square? 
It  brings  us  back  to  the  original  proposition: 
What's  he  here  for  at  all  if  he  isn't  a  lunger?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  wonder,"  said  Fillmore  impress- 
ively, in  a  good  imitation  of  White's  melodramatic 
manner,  u  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  he  should  turn 
out  to  be  a  hold-up  man;  the  leader  of  the  gang 
that  holds  up  the  gambling  places  here." 

"  Yes !  "  added  Stevenson,  lowering  his  voice 
and  also  imitating  White's  manner  as  nearly  as 
possible.  "  That  would  account  for  his  living  on 
the  desert,  and  for  not  being  a  lunger,  which 
seems  to  be  his  greatest  iniquity,  and  also  for 
his  having  plenty  of  money.  You've  struck  it, 
laddie!" 

11  He  was  out  all  last  night,"  said  another  mys- 
teriously. "  Told  some  one  he  was  going  to  see 
the  play  and  would  stay  at  the  hotel  overnight. 
How  do  we  know  where  he  was  ?  This  talk  about 
the  play  may  have  been  a  blind  to  throw  us  off 
the  track." 

11  Has  anyone  seen  this  morning's  paper  yet?  " 
asked  Stevenson  significantly.  "  Wonder  if  any- 
thing occurred  last  night;  anything  in  the  way  of 
a  murder  or  a  hold-up?  " 

13 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

11  It  certainly  looks  suspicious,"  murmured  an- 
other, "  his  wanting  to  see  a  play.  Something 
ought  to  be  done  about  it." 

"  Got  a  gun,  Willie?  I  shall  sleep  with  one 
eye  open  hereafter  until  we  know  more  about 
this." 

"  All  right,  you  fellows,"  rejoined  White 
gloomily.  "  Go  on  kidding,  but  perhaps  you'll 
find  out  in  the  end  that  I'm  right.  Why  does  he 
keep  so  much  to  himself?  Why  don't  he  tell 
us  something  about  himself?  If  he's  all  right, 
why  doesn't  he  act  like  it  ?  Why  isn't  he  friendly 
to  us?    That's  what  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  Whitey,  my  boy,"  said  Stevenson,  patting  him 
on  the  shoulder,  "  you  were  never  intended  for 
tragedy.  Keep  to  comedy  and  you'll  suit  us  first- 
rate." 

They  were  generally  from  the  better  walks  of 
life.  White  was  a  journalist,  and  had  been  on  the 
reportorial  staff  of  one  of  the  large  Chicago  pa- 
pers. Fillmore  was  a  physician,  Stevenson  a  book- 
keeper. Some  had  been  in  business;  all  had  been 
compelled,  with  the  progress  of  their  disease,  to 
give  up  their  work,  and  the  income  that  went 
with  it. 

In  their  dress  they  affected  the  costume  of  the 
ranchman  or  cowboy,  as  usually  depicted  on  the 
stage,  except  that  they  carried  no  bowie-knives  or 

14 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

revolvers  in  belt  or  boot-leg.  Not  that  they  did 
not  have  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  were 
about  as  many  weapons  as  men  in  the  Camp. 
These  had  been  brought  along  from  the  East, 
often  the  parting  gift  of  some  friend,  who,  while 
thinking  that  he  was  doing  the  correct  thing  in 
the  premises,  was  totally  unaware  that  in  the  pos- 
sibilities suggested,  the  invalid  came  near  giving 
up  the  trip  altogether.  Fortunately,  they  dis- 
covered soon  after  their  arrival  that  the  gun  is 
as  much  of  a  superfluity  in  Arizona  to  men 
of  their  class,  as  it  is  in  Union  Square,  or  on 
Boston  Common,  so  they  wisely  left  them  in  their 
trunks. 

Their  garb  ran  largely  to  corduroy  trousers, 
gray  flannel  shirts,  and  broad-brimmed,  gray  felt 
hats  with  leather  bands.  The  carved  leather  band 
appeared  to  be  one  of  the  essentials  of  the  equip- 
ment; from  the  uniform  use  that  was  made  of  it, 
talismanic  powers  might  have  been  predicated  for 
it.  Elk-hide  shoes,  in  color  resembling  the  dust 
of  the  street,  completed  the  costume. 

No  greater  compliment  could  have  been  paid 
these  men  than  to  mistake  them  for  ranchmen. 
The  make-up  of  some  of  them  was  indeed  so  good 
as  to  give  the  impression  to  the  uninitiated,  of 
being  native  to  the  soil;  and  it  was  one  of  the 
things  that  helped  them  to  get  away  from  their 

*5 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

invalidism,  that  went  a  long  way  toward  recovery, 
that  they  no  longer  looked  the  part  of  invalid, 
thanks  to  the  healthful  outdoor  life,  the  sound 
sleep,  the  feeling  of  well-being  imparted  by  the 
dry  stimulating  atmosphere  and  the  sunshine. 
Although  their  forms  were  spare, — the  bronzed 
cheek,  the  bright  eye,  the  frequent  laugh,  the 
occasional  whistle,  bespoke  returning  health,  or 
the  expectation  of  it. 

Some,  it  is  true,  were  destined  never  to  get  well, 
and  most  of  them  knew  they  would  never  be  as 
robust  as  before.  They  realized  that  in  all  like- 
lihood they  would  have  to  remain  in  the  South- 
west, except  for  an  occasional  visit  "  home,"  and 
that  it  would  be  necessary  to  be  always  "  careful." 
Notwithstanding,  an  atmosphere  of  optimism  pre- 
vailed instead  of  the  depression  commonly  asso- 
ciated in  the  popular  mind  as  existing  in  a  place 
made  up  largely  of  invalids. 

It  was  inspiriting  to  hear  a  yell  proceeding  from 
some  young  fellow  on  emerging  from  his  tent  after 
dressing  in  the  morning,  whose  dejected  demeanor 
on  first  coming  to  the  Camp  the  previous  autumn 
was  evidence  enough  that  he  had  come  to  Arizona 
as  a  last  resource.  One  would  hardly  think  his 
case  had  been  desperate  to  note  the  abandon  with 
which  he  would  shout  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  as 
if  testing  his  lung  capacity. 

16 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

It  was  characteristic  of  each,  that,  while  yet  at 
home,  they  had  intuitively  stopped  making  plans 
for  the  future,  the  invariable  mental  reservation, 
"  if  I  live,"  dampening  all  ardor  and  interest  in 
the  matter, — they  now,  with  one  accord,  talked 
as  if  they  had  years  ahead  of  them  in  which  to 
do  things.  All  in  all,  it  was  not  an  unpleasant 
experience,  this  camp  life  on  the  desert.  They 
had  begun  it  with  dread  and  apprehension,  but 
many  of  them  came  to  enjoy  it. 

They  had,  for  the  most  part,  but  little  or  no 
means  of  their  own,  relying  on  small  remittances 
from  home,  or  a  sick  benefit  fund  from  some 
fraternal  organization  on  which  to  live.  With 
most,  the  knowledge  that  they  were  consumptive 
had  come  as  a  complete  surprise — something 
wholly  unexpected.  Their  experiences  in  this  re- 
spect were  quite  similar.  A  little  more  fatigue 
after  exertion  than  formerly,  perhaps  some  falling 
off  in  the  body-weight,  appetite  not  quite  so  good. 
With  some,  the  climax  had  come  through  a  hem- 
orrhage, but  more  commonly  through  a  casual 
visit  to  a  physician,  whose  trained  senses  had  led 
to  a  discovery  of  the  presence  of  the  disease. 
From  henceforth  their  whole  mode  of  life  had 
been  revolutionized.  The  various  plans,  some  on 
the  eve  of  fulfilment,  were  now  to  be  abandoned. 
If  married   (some  of  the  married  ones  had  but 

17 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

recently  assumed  the  new  responsibility)  the  shock 
was  all  the  greater. 

11  That  windstorm  yesterday  was  tough.  It's 
a  good  thing  they  come  so  seldom  here.  Arizona 
wouldn't  be  much  of  a  health  resort  if  we  had  this 
to  reckon  with  often." 

The  speaker  was  a  serious-looking  young  fel- 
low, called  the  Deacon,  who  had  just  joined  the 
group.  He  had  a  pathetic  look  of  longing  in 
his  face,  which  all  knew  was  acquired  by  having 
been  compelled  to  leave  his  wife  behind  in  the 
Eastern  city.  He  was  a  musician  by  profession, 
and  had  married  one  of  his  promising  scholars. 
In  knowledge  of  the  world,  they  were  both  like 
children,  but  when  the  husband's  health  failed, 
the  wife  had  stepped  into  the  breach,  taking  up 
the  work  so  far  as  she  was  able.  She  was  now 
earning  the  means  on  which  both  subsisted.  The 
Deacon  had  had  his  ambitions,  having  been  an 
indefatigable  student,  and  had  aimed  for  the  con- 
cert stage.  His  name  was  Henry  Martin,  and  as 
no  play  on  words  seemed  appropriate  here,  they 
had  dubbed  him  "  Deacon." 

These  desert  storms  filled  him  with  a  nameless 
dread.  Whether  it  was  that  the  dry  air,  rendered 
still  drier  by  the  wind,  tended  to  make  him  ner- 
vous, or  whether,  the  sky  being  overcast  during 
these  storms,  the  depressing  effect  was  due  to  the 

18 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

absence  of  the  sun,  he  did  not  know,  but  their 
recurrence  awoke  in  him  intense  anxiety  of  mind, 
like  portents  of  disaster,  as  of  calamities  im- 
pending. 

"  Whitey  and  I  were  in  town  all  day,"  said 
Stevenson.  "  We  stayed  at  Nick's.  He  takes  all 
the  papers,  and  you  can  get  a  good  dinner  there, 
too." 

14  Nick's  is  the  only  place  in  town  that  has  no 
gambling  layout,"  reflected  White. 

"  Deacon,  have  you  ever  been  to  see  the  game 
at  the  White  Heifer?" 

A  negative  from  the  Deacon. 

"  When  you  do  go,"  said  Fillmore,  "  take  no- 
tice of  the  dealer  at  the  roulette  table.  He's  a 
lunger  in  the  last  stages  of  the  disease,  so  emaci- 
ated that  you  can  almost  see  the  skull  through  his 
face.  His  fingers,  as  he  rakes  in  the  coins,  look 
twice  the  length  of  an  ordinary  man's.  It's  un- 
canny." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  does  it  from  preference," 
said  White.  "  Perhaps  he's  been  bucking  the  tiger 
himself,  and  this  is  the  only  way  open  to  him  to 
make  a  living." 

"  He  won't  have  to  worry  about  a  living  much 
longer  if  he  spends  his  days  in  that  place.  The 
air  is  so  thick  you  can  cut  it  with  a  knife.  It's 
plain  they  don't  cater  to  invalids  or  they'd  ven- 

19 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

tilate.  Their  patronage  sure  comes  from  cowboys 
and  miners.  He  won't  last  a  month  there."  This 
from  the  doctor. 

"  You  come  to  town  with  me  to-morrow,  Dea- 
con, and  we'll  see  the  game,"  said  White,  rising 
as  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "  We  can  see  all  we 
want  to  in  half  an  hour." 

M  Do  you  good  to  see  a  little  of  life,"  said  a 
young  fellow  by  the  name  of  Salton.  "  The  spice 
of  danger  is  taken  out  of  it,  owing  to  this  being 
almost  a  Yankee  city,  but  it's  interesting  in  a 
measure,  and  gives  you  something  to  write  about 
to  the  fellows  back  home." 

"  You  should  see  the  letter  I  wrote  to  the  fel- 
lows on  the  Tribunal  about  gambling  experiences 
here,"  put  in  White,  willing  to  defer  his  walk 
provided  he  might  have  the  centre  of  the  stage 
a  while  longer.  "  I  drew  word  pictures  of  a  scene 
purporting  to  have  been  witnessed  by  me,  which, 
if  they  believed  it, — and  people  will  believe  any- 
thing about  the  West, — must  have  made  their  hair 
stand  on  end.  I  described  a  fight  over  the  cards 
with  bowie-knives  between  a  Chinaman  and  a 
'  bad  man,'  in  which  both  were  almost  dismem- 
bered." 

"  That's  it,"  said  another.  "  It  enables  you  to 
make  your  letters  picturesque." 

M  In  some  of  the  mining  towns  in  the  interior, 
20 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

I'll  bet  you  can  see  bowie-knives  and  guns  on  the 
tables  alongside  the  players  yet,"  remarked  White, 
as  he  turned  to  go,  "  but  that's  all  right.  It 
makes  people  polite.  The  revolver's  a  great  civ- 
ilizer." 

11  You  haven't  settled  yet  what  it  is  that  brings 
Branscombe  out  here,"  said  Fillmore.  "  Before 
we  adjourn  I  move  that  Whitey  be  appointed  a 
committee  of  one  to  ascertain  this  momentous  fact 
and  make  a  report  later." 


21 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  following  morning,  White  and  the  Dea- 
con drove  into  town  as  they  had  planned 
on  the  previous  afternoon.  It  was  still  early, — 
campers  are  early  risers, — but  the  sun  was  bright 
and  warm,  and  the  air  balmy  as  that  of  a  June 
day.  Each  felt  that  subtle,  rejuvenating  influ- 
ence pervading  his  organism,  resulting  from  the 
sound  sleep  in  the  pure  air  of  the  desert  which 
usually  lasted  well  on  into  the  forenoon.  For  a 
part  of  each  day  at  least,  when  no  untoward  cir- 
cumstance occurred  to  mar  the  night's  rest,  they 
could  taste  the  luxury  of  returning  health,  and 
this,  in  itself,  had  an  important  bearing  on  the 
case,  giving  them  confidence  in  ultimate  recovery. 
Spring  was  at  hand.  Though  the  calendar  in- 
dicated that  February  had  but  just  begun,  the 
short  winter,  in  which  the  nights  had  been  cold 
enough  to  check  the  growth  of  the  vegetation  and 
to  cause  the  leaves  of  the  deciduous  trees  to  fall, 
was  nearly  over.  Hope  was  in  the  air.  Life  now 
seemed  to  have  been  bestowed  for  something  other 
than  endurance.     Enjoyment,   fulfilment,   seemed 

22 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

also  to  be  included  in  the  scheme  of  things.  The 
magical  effect  of  the  few  showers  on  the  vegeta- 
tion of  desert  and  garden  was  already  visible. 
Roses  of  all  kinds  luxuriated  in  the  gardens,  nod- 
ding and  wafting  their  fragrance  to  them  as  they 
drove  along.  In  the  pastures  sleek  Holstein  cattle 
surveyed  life  with  serene  eyes.  Grackles  chorused 
in  the  cottonwoods.  All  space  seemed  glowing 
with  color,  quivering  with  song,  vibrant  with  life. 

The  Deacon,  charmed  with  all  this  loveliness, 
was  silent,  thinking  what  a  good  letter  he  would 
make  of  it  to  his  wife.  White,  in  his  present 
character  of  cynic,  was  also  silent.  He  was  essen- 
tially an  actor;  be  it  said,  he  generally  acted  well 
his  part.  He  was  artist  enough  to  realize  that 
cynicism  was  somehow  out  of  harmony  with  all 
this  vigor  and  newness  of  life;  you  cannot  be  en- 
thusiastic and  cynical  at  the  same  time,  so  he 
wisely  held  his  peace. 

White  was  utterly  unlike  the  Deacon,  mentally 
and  physically.  Of  striking  appearance,  he  was 
always  to  the  fore  in  a  company,  without  giving 
the  appearance  of  having  pushed  himself  there. 
He  was  the  leading  spirit  in  the  Camp. 

He  had  started  a  novel  to  keep  his  hand  in, 
and,  requiring  a  villain,  had  hit  upon  Branscombe. 
He  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  him,  but  the 
slight  mystery  which  he  assumed  as  attaching  to 

23 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

his  presence  in  the  Camp  seemed  to  justify  him 
in  interpreting  it  to  the  other's  discredit,  at  least 
for  the  purposes  of  fiction. 

White  felt  sure  that  Branscombe  had  a  history 
— everything  betokened  it.  The  youngish  face  in 
conjunction  with  his  gray-besprinkled  hair  seemed 
to  proclaim  the  fact,  and  render  him  an  interest- 
ing psychological  study  to  the  volatile  White. 
Men  like  this,  he  reflected,  are  not  out  on  the 
desert  except  for  a  purpose.  Saint  or  sinner,  hero 
or  villain,  he  made  a  picturesque  figure,  and  as 
such,  seemed  legitimate  property  for  his  purpose. 
He  must  have  a  history  out  of  the  common,  he 
felt  convinced.  Since  he  could  not  get  at  the  real 
one,  he  constructed  one,  sketching  him  at  one  time 
as  a  red-handed  assassin  weltering  in  gore;  at  an- 
other, as  a  very  prince  of  Machiavellian  craft. 

Had  Branscombe  so  desired,  the  two  might  have 
become  the  best  of  friends,  in  which  case  he  would 
probably  have  been  elevated  to  the  post  of  hero. 
Since  this  was  not  to  be,  he  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. As  this  conception  of  the  character  of 
Branscombe  grew  in  his  hands,  he  became  by  in- 
sensible degrees  the  leader  in  the  opposition 
against  him,  the  others  humoring  his  outbursts 
for  the  fun  they  afforded. 

The  Deacon  was  the  antithesis  of  all  this.  He 
was  a  plain,  straightforward  young  man,  inclined 

24 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

to  take  things  literally,  having  the  curious  simplic- 
ity that  often  goes  with  the  artistic  temperament. 
He  might  have  taken  Emerson's  words,  "  Be  and 
not  seem,"  for  his  motto  to  govern  his  life  by. 
His  mental  processes  were  less  involved,  and  he 
was  not  so  decorative  an  adjunct  of  the  Camp  as 
was  White,  but  he  fitted  into  his  niche,  and  as  a 
component  part  of  the  whole,  was  perhaps  quite 
as  important  as  the  other. 

Nature  had  compensated  him  for  his  slight 
physical  condition  by  giving  him  an  ardent  soul; 
or  perhaps  the  soul  was  wearing  out  the  body. 
In  either  case,  in  the  sum-total, — if  life  is  to  be 
measured  by  what  it  yields, — he  probably  was 
faring  as  well  as  the  dullard  of  perfect  health 
living  out  his  allotted  three-score  and  ten. 

After  receiving  their  mail  and  making  a  few 
purchases,  the  Deacon,  full  of  the  letter  he  was 
going  to  write,  was  for  returning  to  Camp  at  once, 
but  White,  determined  that  he  should  see  the 
game,  held  him  to  his  agreement. 

Many  of  the  gambling  places  in  the  Southwest 
never  close  their  doors  night  or  day.  They  are 
freely  patronized  by  all  classes,  and  large  sums 
of  money  change  hands  there,  but  luxuriousness 
is  not  a  characteristic  of  them  as  in  the  East.  The 
footfall  is  not  deadened  by  the  deep  pile  of  Turk- 
ish carpets;  the  walls  are  relieved  by  prints  instead 

25 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  paintings  and  tapestries,  and  lunches  are  not  in 
evidence.  No  bait  is  required  to  lure  patronage 
here. 

It  was  still  early,  but  the  games  were  in  progress 
as  they  entered,  with  bystanders  grouped  about. 
A  decorous  silence  prevailed,  broken  by  the  click- 
ing of  chips.  No  effort  is  made  in  these  places  to 
induce  visitors  to  participate  in  the  game,  many 
of  them  never  hazarding  a  dollar. 

"  We  should  have  come  in  the  evening  to  see 
the  thing  properly,"  complained  White.  "  I  don't 
count  on  getting  you  here  again,  and  I  wanted  you 
to  see  something  worth  while.  I  never  come  here 
of  an  evening  but  what  I  see  *  stuff  '  that  would 
make  at  least  half  a  column  were  I  still  on  the 
staff." 

"Why  do  you  come?"  asked  the  Deacon 
simply. 

"  Oh,  it  don't  do  me  any  harm.  It's  part  of 
my  business  as  a  newspaper  man  to  see  what's 
going  on.  I  do  it  to  keep  my  hand  in.  I've 
never  played  in  my  life,  and  have  no  desire  to. 
I  come  for  the  spectacle,  and  never  remain  longer 
than,  say,  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  the  air's  too  bad. 
It's  a  risk  for  a  lunger  to  come  here  at  all.  But 
there's  lots  going  on  in  these  places  out  of  which 
good  '  copy  '  might  be  made.  It's  really  a  pity 
to  see  it  go  to  waste." 

26 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

A  young  fellow,  rather  shabbily  clothed,  with 
a  nameless  something  about  him  that  suggested 
homelessness — perhaps  it  was  the  wistfulness  re- 
flected in  the  innocent  blue  eyes  that  somehow 
seemed  to  convey  the  impression  of  habitually 
seeking  something — came  in  and  took  a  chair. 
He  appeared  to  be  a  habitue  of  the  place.  The 
pinched  features  and  hectic  flush  denoted  the  con- 
sumptive. He  descried  White  from  across  the 
room  and  nodded  to  him.  When  he  was  out  of 
ear-shot  White  gave  the  Deacon  a  bit  of  the 
other's  history. 

"  He's  only  a  simple  country  boy,  not  much 
over  twenty.  He  came  here  for  his  health  about 
four  months  ago,  from  Virginia,  and  has  been  up 
against  it  for  fair  ever  since.  I  don't  suppose  he 
had  ever  seen  a  city  before  leaving  his  home,  or 
had  ever  been  in  a  saloon.  His  father  has  been 
dead  some  years.  His  mother  died  the  past  sum- 
mer. They  had  a  little  farm  which  he  carried  on. 
He  lost  much  rest  taking  care  of  his  mother  dur- 
ing her  last  illness.  After  her  death,  the  attend- 
ing physician,  though  not  well  versed  in  tubercu- 
losis signs,  suspected  the  presence  of  the  disease, 
and,  on  making  an  examination,  this  was  con- 
firmed. It  was  quite  incipient,  and  he  advised 
him  to  go  to  Arizona  where  he  could  work  on  a 
ranch  while  being  cured.     To  expect  a  simple, 

27 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

guileless  youth  like  this  to  make  his  way  among 
strangers,  and  in  sickness,  is  the  height  of  ab- 
surdity; he  would  not  have  been  equal  to  it  had 
he  been  perfectly  healthy,  but  that's  a  blunder 
that's  constantly  made. 

"  He  had  about  fifty  dollars  on  reaching  here, 
and  stayed  around  town  while  it  lasted.  It's  sin- 
gular how  many  reach  here  with  just  fifty  dollars. 
That  seems  to  be  the  limit  with  many.  Then  he 
got  a  job  on  a  ranch  for  his  board,  but  as  the 
ranchman  seemed  to  expect  as  much  work  from 
him  as  if  he  had  been  paying  him  wages,  he  left 
and  came  back  to  town.  In  a  few  days  hunger 
drove  him  to  the  County  house,  but  he  only  stayed 
there  a  few  days,  saying  it  was  impossible  to  stand 
it.  This  was  about  six  weeks  ago.  Since  then  he 
has  been  existing  on  a  stray  quarter  or  half-dollar 
here  or  there  that  others  give  him,  with  which  he 
buys  food.  When  no  one  gives  him  anything  he 
fasts.  He  has  no  regular  room  but  does  little 
jobs  about  the  place  here,  for  which  they  allow 
him  to  sleep  on  the  floor  in  an  out-of-the-way 
corner,  when  he  can  do  no  better.  Occasionally 
he  has  a  chance,  through  the  kindness  of  a  clerk 
in  one  of  the  cheap  lodging-houses,  to  occupy  a 
bed,  should  there  be  one  vacant  when  closing  time 
comes.  All  the  while  he  has  been  writing  home 
for  money,  looking  for  it  from  day  to  day.  He 
28 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

has  uncles  and  cousins  there,  but  they  do  not  be- 
lieve that  he  is  unable  to  work,  and  tell  him  he 
should  work  for  his  board  until  he  can  secure 
something  better.  They  refuse  to  loan  him  money, 
saying  the  sisters,  who  are  younger,  should  have 
the  preference  in  this  respect.  The  farm  cannot 
be  mortgaged  during  their  minority.  He's  too 
proud  to  tell  them  just  how  he's  living — they 
might  cast  him  off  altogether  if  he  were  to  do  so, 
and  he  lives  along  in  this  way,  hoping  from  day  to 
day  that  they  will  relent  and  send  him  enough 
to  get  home  with.  I  give  him  a  dollar  occasion- 
ally, which  is  as  much  as  I  can  afford — it  may  be 
a  long  while,  if  ever,  before  I'm  able  to  earn  any 
money — and  others  do  a  little  for  him  too,  so 
that  he  manages  to  keep  on  living,  but  that's  about 
all.  He  looks  as  if  his  disease  had  progressed 
considerably  during  the  past  month.  Worry  eats 
into  a  lunger's  life  worse  than  the  bugs." 

"  He  looks  so  unused  to  this  kind  of  thing. 
How  did  he  get  started  in  here  ?  "  asked  the  Dea- 
con, pity  in  every  inflection  of  his  voice.  "  Did 
he  play  while  he  had  money?  " 

"  He  doesn't  know  one  card  from  another,  and 
says  he  never  staked  a  dollar  in  his  life.  But  he'd 
been  living  in  a  cheap  lodging-house,  where  every- 
thing is  cheerless  and  unpleasant.  He  looks  as  if 
he  had  been  fairly  well  brought  up.     You  know 

29 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

what  a  lonely,  unhappy  time  a  fellow  has  on  first 
coming,  until  he  gets  settled.  The  saloons  are 
always  open,  have  the  best  locations,  are  bright 
and  cheerful,  and  a  welcome  is  generally  extended 
to  a  presentable  young  fellow  whether  he  spends 
anything  or  not.  It's  perfectly  natural  they  should 
gravitate  there  when  there's  no  other  place  for 
them." 

"  I'll  put  a  half  on  twenty-eight,"  said  a  young 
fellow  near  the  roulette  table,  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word. 

"  Here's  a  town  of  fifteen  thousand  people,  with 
a  church  on  every  corner  almost,  with  clubs  and 
fraternal  organizations,  and  all  the  machinery  of 
a  first-rate  social  life,  but  the  thing  most  needful, 
one  would  think,  in  a  town  with  such  a  large 
transient  population,  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  is  lacking." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  the  Deacon.  "  There's 
hardly  a  town  in  the  East  of  five  thousand  or  up- 
wards, but  has  its  Y.  M.  C.  A." 

"  If  there  were  such  an  institution  here,"  went 
on  White,  "  where  a  young  fellow  could  meet 
others,  where  some  one  would  take  an  interest  in 
him,  and  advise  him  on  occasion,  where  there  was 
a  reading-room  and  library,  perhaps  the  saloons 
and  gambling  places  wouldn't  do  such  a  big  busi- 
ness." 

"  Quite  likely,"  assented  the  Deacon  again. 
30 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  Damn  the  luck !  it's  green  again !  "  came  from 
the  young  fellow  who  had  put  his  half  on  twenty- 
eight. 

"  Whenever  the  ball  drops  on  green,  all  the 
winnings,  no  matter  how  many  are  playing,  go  to 
the  dealer,"  explained  White.  "  Roulette  is  a 
square  enough  game,  that  is,  it  can't  be  manipu- 
lated. Once  the  ball  leaves  the  dealer's  hand,  it 
spins  around  until  it  comes  to  a  stop.  It's  just 
as  liable  to  drop  into  a  red  or  black  compartment, 
as  green.  Green  coming  out  twice  this  way  is  an 
unusual  run  of  luck  for  the  dealer.  It's  quite  a 
deep  game  when  you  come  to  study  it.  Of  course, 
there's  no  system  ever  been  devised  to  beat  it.  If 
there  had  been,  the  game  would  have  been  changed 
to  meet  it.  In  the  long  run,  the  chances  are  in 
favor  of  the  dealer,  you  bet !  The  average  player 
knows  this  too. 

11  Just  now,"  continued  White,  harking  back  to 
his  former  theme,  "  this  element  has  its  own  way 
entirely  here,  but  it  won't  last  forever.  There  has 
already  been  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  here,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  but  it  never  was  in  a  flourishing  condition. 
It  lingered  on  for  a  while  and  then  flickered  out. 
The  reading-rooms  were  small,  wholly  inadequate 
to  the  demand,  and  it  came  to  be  called  the  Lung- 
ers' Retreat,  because  most  of  the  seats  were  mo- 
nopolized by  them.     This  '  knocked  '  it,  and,   as 

3i 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

is  asserted  by  many,  was  the  cause  of  its  discon- 
tinuance. When  they  organize  again  they  ought 
to  have  their  own  building,  with  a  roof-garden 
on  top,  exclusively  for  lungers.  A  lady  deeply 
interested  in  sociological  work,  an  invalid  like  us, 
suggested  this  to  me,  and " 

"She  didn't  use  the  word  '  lunger'?"  inter- 
rupted the  Deacon. 

"  Not  in  this  instance.  I  think  the  idea  an  ex- 
cellent one,  and  hope  to  see  it  adopted." 

"  I'll  just  copper  that  bet,"  came  a  voice  from 
the  faro  table.     "  Two  on  the  ace !  " 

"  There  could  be  a  glass-enclosed  room,"  went 
on  White,  "  for  windy  days,  and  eggs  and  milk 
could  be  served  at  nominal  prices  from  a  booth. 
Here  they  could  remain  all  day  in  the  pure  air, 
with  magazines  and  newspapers,  reclining  chairs, 
and  such  other  conveniences  as  might  be  required. 
I'll  venture  to  say  that  many  a  life  might  be  saved 
in  this  way." 

"  Seventeen  on  the  red !  " 

"  Such  an  organization  could  do  much  for  the 
welfare  and  advancement  of  the  city,"  went  on 
White.  "  It  is  entirely  within  the  province  of  such 
an  institution  to  interest  its  young  men  in  civic 
improvement  and  train  them  to  good  citizenship, 
and  they  couldn't  do  better  than  to  begin  with 
the  lunger  question.  The  ordinances  in  regard  to 
.       32 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

fumigating  rooms  and  bedding  occupied  by  con- 
sumptives, as  well  as  to  spitting  about,  are  never 
properly  enforced,  and,  as  is  well  known,  this  is 
the  way  the  disease  is  propagated.  A  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
organization  could  appoint  a  committee  of  young 
men  who  would  see  to  the  enforcement  of  the  laws 
in  this  respect  as  a  matter  of  self-protection,  and, 
if  necessary,  have  the  city  appoint  a  salaried  official 
for  the  purpose. 

"  Bellenden,  the  young  Virginian  I've  been  tell- 
ing you  of,n  continued  White,  coming  back  to  his 
original  subject,  "  drifted  in  here  with  others  from 
the  cheap  lodging-house  where  he  roomed,  and  he 
shouldn't  be  blamed,  as  there  was  no  other  place 
for  him  to  go  to." 

"  He  might  have  gotten  himself  a  tent  and  gone 
out  onto  the  desert  and  *  bached '  it  as  we  are 
doing." 

"  Yes,  if  he  could  have  lived  on  air  subsequent- 
ly. After  a  while,  the  scientists  may  be  able  to 
arrange  things  so  that  we  can  get  our  sustenance 
from  the  oxygen  in  the  air,  but  at  present  we 
require  groceries.  It  would  have  used  up  his  fifty 
dollars  and  more,  to  get  the  tent  and  furniture, 
and  get  started.  Besides,  they  don't  know  how 
to  proceed  in  the  matter,  and  they're  afraid  of 
loneliness  in  the  country.  An  organized  camp's 
the  thing,  but  you  can't  get  into  one  for  less  than 

33 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

nine  or  ten  dollars  a  week.  The  pathos  of  this 
disease  is,  that  it  mostly  attacks  young  men  like 
us,  who  haven't  yet  had  a  chance  to  get  money 
ahead.  If  it  came  in  middle  age,  we'd  be  better 
prepared  to  meet  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  Bellenden's  home  address 
and  write  to  his  uncles?  "  asked  the  Deacon. 

"  I  have,  and  received  no  answer.  Then  I 
wrote  a  Masonic  friend  in  New  York,  who  I  knew 
had  affiliations  throughout  that  region.  In  due 
time  I  received  a  reply,  answering  my  questions 
minutely,  and  confirming  everything  that  Bellen- 
den  had  said  of  himself.  In  the  young  fellow's 
opinion,  the  uncles — there  are  two  of  them — care 
very  little  whether  he  lives  or  dies.  He  has  a 
small  life  insurance  which  they  keep  up,  and  will 
probably  get  hold  of,  as  well  as  his  land,  when 
he  dies." 

A  slender,  well-dressed,  gentlemanly  appearing 
man  entered,  crossed  the  room,  and  spoke  with 
an  employee  at  the  farther  end.  White  called 
the  Deacon's  attention  to  him. 

"  He's  one  of  the  proprietors  of  the  place,  and 
is  what  might  be  called  a  victim  of  circumstances 
himself.  He  came  here  as  a  lunger,  some  years 
ago.  You'll  think  I'm  stringing  you  when  I  tell 
you  he  studied  for  the  ministry,  and,  if  his  health 
hadn't  broken   down,   would  probably  be  in  the 

34 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

pulpit  to-day.  He  had  been  trying  to  work  his 
way  through  college  but  didn't  have  the  physique 
to  stand  it.  Tuberculosis  developed,  and  he  had 
to  give  it  up  before  graduation. 

11  On  coming  here  he  could  have  had  a  situation 
in  a  store,  but  he  wanted  outside  work.  He  had 
scarcely  any  money  and  had  to  take  the  first  thing 
that  presented  itself,  which  was  a  job  on  a  ranch. 
But  the  work  was  hard,  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
it,  and,  after  trying  it  a  few  months  and  finding 
that  his  health  was  not  improving,  he  left  and 
came  back  to  town.  Here  he  tried  one  thing  after 
another  until  he  finally  joined  issues  with  a  pros- 
pector, a  good  mining  man  who  had  formerly  kept 
a  saloon  but  had  lost  it,  and  was  going  to  try  his 
luck  again  in  the  hills.  After  a  year  or  so  of 
struggle,  they  made  a  strike  which  netted  them 
a  few  thousands,  and  returned  to  town  and  started 
this  place.  They've  been  here  now  three  years 
and  are  doing  a  big  business.  He  deals  faro  him- 
self once  in  a  while,  but  not  generally,  as  the  bad 
air  and  stale  tobacco  smoke  ain't  just  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  him,  and  he's  got  sense 
enough  to  know  it." 

While  White  was  still  speaking  his  attention 
was  drawn  to  a  young  man  recently  come  in, 
whose  actions  made  it  evident  that  he  was  suf- 
fering great  mental  perturbation.     He  seemed  un- 

35 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

decided  whether  to  remain  and  take  a  hand,  or 
to  leave.  He  was  evidently  afraid  of  himself. 
A  glance  at  his  features  indicated  to  the  practised 
eyes  of  the  friends  that  he  was  an  invalid  like 
themselves.  Although  his  clothing  might  have 
been  a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  there  was  a  cer- 
tain elegance  in  his  bearing  and  manner  which 
attracted  attention  toward  him. 

The  friends  remarked  on  his  attitude  of  inde- 
cision, how  he  occasionally  walked  to  the  door, 
then  returned,  looking  at  his  watch  frequently,  and 
showing  evidences  of  inward  commotion.  Finally, 
his  scruples  overcome,  he  sat  down  at  a  faro  table 
and  began  to  play.  A  tenseness  in  his  attitude 
riveted  their  attention  on  him.  An  atmosphere  of 
disquietude  seemed  to  envelop  him.  They  had  a 
misgiving  that  all  was  not  right.  Something  tragic 
seemed  about  being  enacted. 

White,  experienced  in  these  things,  would  have 
given  a  good  deal  to  have  been  able  to  prevent 
him  from  playing,  but  that  he  knew  to  be  impossi- 
ble now  that  he  had  begun.  He  saw  that  he  was 
playing  cautiously,  but  he  also  saw  that  he  was 
losing,  and  the  expression  of  his  face — the  set  de- 
spair, as  he  saw  his  little  hoard  dwindle — haunted 
him  for  many  a  day  thereafter. 

The  young  fellow  at  no  time  played  wildly  or 
for  large  stakes,  but  it  was  apparent  that  luck  was 

36 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

against  him.  When  the  end  came,  he  rose  from 
his  seat  and  left  the  place.  He  looked  so  wild 
and  haggard  that  White  and  the  Deacon  followed 
him  out  with  the  object  of  engaging  him  in  con- 
versation, to  which  he  scarcely  responded.  They 
were,  however,  too  well  versed  in  the  symptoms 
of  their  common  disease  to  deem  it  safe  to  leave 
him,  the  excitement  under  which  he  was  laboring 
making  a  collapse  something  to  be  apprehended. 

Directing  their  steps  to  a  small  park  on  another 
street,  they  seated  themselves  and  began  talking 
on  indifferent  subjects. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Roosevelt's  attitude  on 
the  Eastern  question?"  began  White. 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  with  a  dazed 
expression  but  had  no  opinion  to  offer. 

"  I  was  over  at  the  Park  last  Sunday,"  contin- 
ued White,  taking  another  tack,  "  to  see  the  steer- 
tying  contest.  They  sure  do  their  work  up  slick. 
One  steer  was  tied  in  just  twenty-nine  seconds  from 
the  time  the  cowboy  started  his  horse  after  him. 
They  had  some  broncho-busting  too.  Some  of 
these  little  bronchos  are  devils." 

Still  silence. 

"  The  most  fun  is  with  the  outlaws,"  persisted 
White,  resolved  to  hammer  away  until  he  could 
incite  some  interest,  or  get  some  kind  of  an  an- 
swer.    "  That's  the  name  they  give  those  horses 

37 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

which  will  not  allow  themselves  to  be  ridden. 
They  can  be  saddled  all  right,  and  sometimes  will 
allow  of  their  being  harnessed,  and  can  then  be 
made  to  work,  but  they  won't  stand  for  having 
anyone  on  their  backs.    Throw  them  every  time." 

u  The  Tonto  dam  is  a  great  project.  There's 
likely  to  be  a  big  boom  here  when  the  government 
irrigation  works  are  completed,"  adduced  the 
Deacon  in  the  laudable  effort  to  do  his  part.  But 
it  likewise  failed  to  elicit  a  response. 

11  I'm  afraid  all  this  irrigation  is  no  good  for 
us  lungers,"  postulated  White,  beginning  the  at- 
tack again.  "  It  makes  it  damp.  What  we  need 
is  a  dry  atmosphere.  A  good  place  for  a  lunger's 
camp  would  be  up  in  Paradise  Valley;  but  they 
would  have  to  give  it  another  name.  Paradise 
wouldn't  just  be  popular  with  lungers.  It's  too 
suggestive.  They'd  have  to  get  water  there  some- 
how, too." 

"  There's  plenty  of  water  in  the  mountains 
above  there."  It  was  the  Deacon's  turn.  "  There 
would  be  no  trouble  in  getting  enough  for  domes- 
tic purposes  anyway." 

The  situation  was  becoming  strained.  "  Have 
you  been  long  in  Arizona?"  asked  White. 

Thus  directly  appealed  to,  the  young  man  had 
no  other  course  but  to  answer,  which  he  did  briefly. 
"  Since  last  autumn." 

38 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  Did  you  come  alone?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  So  did  I.  'Way  from  New  York.  It  takes 
a  good  deal  of  sand  for  a  lunger  to  go  so  far 
away  from  home." 

"  Nothing  matters  much  anyway,  I  begin  to 
think,"  said  the  stranger,  closing  his  eyes  wearily. 
Then  his  body  swayed  and  he  would  have  fallen 
had  not  White  caught  him. 

But  it  was  only  a  momentary  weakness,  and  he 
was  soon  able  to  sit  up  without  help. 

"  Look  here,  my  friend,"  said  White.  "  You're 
not  well,  and  oughtn't  to  be  around  this  way. 
Have  you  anyone  to  look  after  you  at  your  home? 
You  ought  to  go  to  bed  right  away.  There's 
always  danger  of  a  hemorrhage  in  your  condi- 
tion." 

"  That  wouldn't  matter  much  either,"  was  the 
reply.  "  Nothing  makes  much  difference  any 
more." 

White  hesitated.  He  was  loth  to  pry  into  the 
affairs  of  the  other,  but  had  seen  enough,  earlier 
in  the  day,  to  convince  him  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  trouble  that  might  end  in  tragedy. 
Most  of  an  invalid's  difficulties,  he  reflected,  are 
referable  to  a  lack  of  money.  He  had  little  enough 
himself,  but  here  was  a  case  where  it  would  be 
impossible  to  withhold  such  help  as  he  could  af- 

39 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ford.  It  was  no  time  for  delicacy;  he  plunged 
into  the  subject. 

"What's  the  matter?  Strapped?  I  noticed 
you  at  the  game." 

The  other  nodded. 

"  Suppose  we  take  you  home  and  get  you  to 
bed.  We'll  call  again  to-morrow  and  will  help 
you  out  in  some  way." 

It  transpired  that  he  had  a  room  in  a  cheap 
boarding-house  near  by,  and  the  friends  took  him 
there  and  helped  him  to  bed.  They  then  looked 
up  the  woman  who  managed  the  house,  asking  her 
to  see  to  him  occasionally,  stating  they  would  call 
again  the  following  morning. 

"  All  right,"  was  the  reply,  delivered  with  a 
brisk,  alert  manner,  "  if  you  say  you'll  come  to- 
morrow, I'll  see  to  him  meanwhile,  but  we've  seen 
so  much  of  that  kind  of  people  here  in  destitute 
circumstances,  that  we  don't  feel  sorry  for  them 
any  more.  We've  been  blamed  for  letting  sick 
people  suffer,  but  there  are  so  many  destitute  in- 
valids here,  that  to  relieve  them  would  be  taking 
the  bread  out  of  our  own  mouths.  One  gets  hard- 
ened to  it.  I  used  to  feel  sorry  for  them,"  she 
added,  observing  the  disapprobation  in  White's 
face,  "  but  now  I  think  they  shouldn't  have  come." 

After  assuring  her  again  that  they  would  cer- 
tainly call  there  in  the  morning,  the  friends  took 

40 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

their  departure.  But  the  freshness  and  charm  that 
had  so  elated  them  earlier  in  the  day  seemed  dis- 
sipated by  the  incident,  and  they  drove  back  to 
Camp  feeling  depressed. 

White,  in  his  capacity  of  journalist,  had  often 
had  occasion  to  write  up  cases  in  which  all  sorts 
of  misconduct  had  proceeded  from  persons  hither- 
to free  from  any  charge  of  wrong-doing.  Under 
the  spell  of  the  most  mixed  motives,  they  had  been 
driven  to  their  action,  as  it  were,  by  a  force  tem- 
porarily beyond  their  control.  He  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  blame  Hamer,  which  was  the  young 
man's  name,  for  his  weakness  in  this  particular 
instance,  so  much  as  for  his  folly  in  coming  to 
Arizona  at  all  while  the  matter  of  funds  for  his 
subsistence  was  so  uncertain.  It  was  an  equally 
great  piece  of  folly,  having  come  here,  to  remain 
in  the  city,  where  all  the  conditions,  physical  and 
mental,  are,  for  the  most  part,  unfavorable  to 
the  invalid.  Had  he  gone  right  out  to  the  desert, 
he  would  in  all  probability  be  in  much  better  con- 
dition now  from  every  point  of  view. 

Willard  Hamer,  back  in  the  old  Connecticut 
village,  even  before  his  sickness  had  come  on,  had 
never  had  a  very  easy  time.  His  father  had  died 
when  the  boy  was  twenty  years  of  age,  leaving  no 
means  except  the  house  in  which  he  had  lived. 
The  mother  possessed  but  little  initiative  and  it 

41 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

devolved  on  Willard  to  take  his  father's  place  as 
head  of  the  family.  His  mother  instituted  a  few 
economies,  but  before  the  year  was  out  the  bills 
had  accumulated  to  such  an  extent  that  they  were 
compelled  to  borrow  a  few  hundreds  from  a  rela- 
tion on  a  note.  By  the  next  year  there  was  a 
mortgage  instead  of  a  note. 

"  Your  only  chance  is  to  go  to  Arizona,"  said 
the  doctor  under  whose  charge  he  had  placed  him- 
self. "  Live  in  a  tent  if  possible.  I  do  not  say 
this  will  cure  you.  That  depends  largely  on  your- 
self. Follow  my  directions  and  you  will  at  least 
prolong  your  life.  Keep  on  here  the  way  you  are 
going,  and  you  won't  live  a  year.  Had  you  fol- 
lowed my  advice  and  stopped  working  six  months 
ago,  your  chances  would  be  much  better." 

"Why  not  try  a  sanatorium  here?" 

"  You  are  beyond  the  incipient  stage.  It  would 
be  hard  for  you  now  to  gain  admission  into  any 
but  the  high-priced  private  ones.  These  would 
be  more  expensive  than  to  go  West.  And  you 
would  be  separated  from  your  people  just  the 
same.  You  might  get  something  to  do  there  after 
a  while." 

He  was  a  little  wizened  man,  this  doctor,  with 
preternaturally  bright  eyes.  Hamer,  well  dressed, 
well  favored,  sat,  revolving  in  his  mind  the  advice 
about  Arizona,  hardly  taking  in  its  purport.    This 

42 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

was  one  of  his  fairly  good  days,  and  he  tried  to 
deceive  himself  into  the  belief  that  he  was  getting 
better.  There  was  a  school-boy  attachment,  for 
one  thing,  that  made  him  cleave,  with  all  his 
strength,  to  the  old  home  and  to  his  position. 

And  then  his  mother.  How  could  he  give  up 
ambitions  and  duties  for  a  life  of  inaction,  of  pos- 
sible destitution  thousands  of  miles  away?  He 
tried  to  persuade  himself  that  he  was  feeling  bet- 
ter. There  was  no  temperature,  the  doctor  said, 
adding  that  it  was  a  good  sign,  and  he  argued 
from  this  that  if  he  were  careful,  he  might  get 
well  at  home.  During  the  past  six  months,  know- 
ing that  he  was  attacked  by  the  disease,  he  had 
collected  considerable  information  on  the  subject, 
learning  among  other  things,  that  the  disease  is 
easily  curable  if  taken  in  time,  often  curing  itself 
without  the  individual  knowing  of  its  presence. 
Might  it  not  be  so  with  him? 

He  lulled  himself  into  security  a  little  longer; 
then  came  a  sudden  turn  for  the  worse,  and  he 
was  compelled  to  give  up  his  position. 

The  bait  held  out  to  him  by  his  physician — 
that  he  might  be  able  to  get  something  to  do  after 
reaching  the  southwest,  had  made  it  easier  for  him 
to  take  the  step.  Could  he  but  earn  enough  to 
pay  his  board,  he  argued,  it  would  not  be  so  bad. 

Through  the  sale  of  some  clawfoot  mahogany 
43 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

they  had  left,  funds  were  obtained  that  enabled 
him  to  purchase  a  colonist's  ticket  for  Arizona, 
and  his  employer  gave  him  a  present  of  fifty  dol- 
lars. With  the  fallacious  hope  before  him  of  earn- 
ing some  money  while  making  the  cure,  he  remained 
in  the  city  on  coming  to  his  destination,  taking 
quarters  in  a  cheap  boarding-house.  His  fifty 
dollars  were  still  intact,  but  it  represented  nearly 
all  his  available  means.  The  ready  money  that 
he  possessed  on  giving  up  his  position  he  had 
divided  with  his  mother,  and  his  portion  had  been 
used  in  necessary  purchases  and  in  traveling  ex- 
penses en  route. 

The  woman  with  whom  he  boarded  spoke  en- 
couragingly to  him  about  his  probable  recovery, 
which  emboldened  him  to  ask  about  the  prospects 
of  obtaining  work  after  a  while.  He  was  told 
that,  in  a  few  months — when  he  was  better — there 
would  probably  be  no  trouble  about  it.  But  when 
his  money  was  gone,  she  advised  him  to  go  back 
home,  as  no  sick  man  ought  to  work.  He,  how- 
ever, tried,  in  a  half-hearted  way,  to  get  work, 
and  when  that  failed  wrote  home  for  money,  say- 
ing that  if  he  could  get  nothing  to  do  he  would 
have  to  return.  The  money  came  sooner  than  it 
was  expected.  His  mother  did  not  enlighten  him 
as  to  how  it  was  obtained,  and  he  did  not  ask. 
When  it  was  received,  he  began  making  prepara- 

44 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

tions  to  leave  for  the  East,  but  with  every  hour 
his  unwillingness  to  go  increased,  and  the  woman, 
noticing  this,  told  him  that  as  he  was  improv- 
ing, it  would  be  a  pity  to  go  back,  and  undo 
all  the  benefit  he  had  gained.  It  ended  by  his 
remaining. 

"  Had  I  come  to  Arizona  at  once,  when  the 
doctor  told  me  of  my  condition,"  said  Hamer  in 
telling  his  story  to  the  two  friends  when  they  called 
next  morning,  "  I  might  now  be  able  to  do  a  little 
work,  but  I  kept  on  working  for  nearly  six  months 
longer,  as  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  give  up  my 
position  when  there  was  no  income  from  any  other 
source.  Finally  I  had  to  stop,  as  I  became  unable 
to  do  my  work." 

He  was  still  in  bed,  and  the  friends  urged  him 
not  to  exert  himself  any  more,  saying  they  would 
call  again  the  next  morning.  They  had  formu- 
lated a  plan  over  night,  whereby  it  was  arranged 
to  bring  him  out  to  the  Camp  as  soon  as  he  would 
be  in  condition  to  make  the  change.  When  they 
communicated  this  to  him  he  was  immediately 
interested,  and  insisted  on  going  on  with  his  story, 
averring  that  he  felt  pretty  well. 

"  My  mother  has  been  keeping  boarders  since 
I  have  been  here,  and  has  managed  to  send  me  a 
pittance  on  which  I  have  existed.  The  money  I 
lost  yesterday  had  been  sent  me  over  a  week  ago, 

45 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

with  the  injunction  that  it  be  used  to  go  home 
with.  I  didn't  want  to  go  home;  there  would 
have  been  but  the  one  result  had  I  done  so.  I 
balanced  the  matter  and  resolved  to  take  a  desper- 
ate chance;  I  would  either  double  it  or  lose  all. 
If  I  were  compelled  to  go  home  it  would 
have  been  all  up  with  me  any  way,  so  I  took  the 
chance.  I  don't  blame  the  man  who  runs  the 
game.  If  I  had  won  I  would  have  taken  the 
money.  He  told  me  not  to  play  when  I  lost  my 
weekly  remittance  once,  saying  that  the  chances 
were  too  great." 

A  violent  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  the  narra- 
tive and  he  was  compelled  to  desist.  When  he 
was  somewhat  rested  the  friends  rose  to  take  their 
departure. 

"  I  want  to  leave  here,"  said  Hamer  wearily. 
"  Come  for  me  to-morrow.  I'll  be  able  to  go  all 
right  to-morrow.  I'm  tired  of  the  city.  I'll  be 
glad  to  get  away  from  here." 

When  the  visitors  came  down,  they  found  the 
landlady  waiting  in  the  hall,  evidently  desirous  of 
speaking  with  them.  Before  they  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  telling  her  their  plan  of  taking  the  in- 
valid to  their  Camp,  she  broached  the  subject  of 
his  removal. 

"  Your  friend  has  been  talking  about  going 
back  East,"  said  she,  "  and  I  think  that  would  be 

46 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  best  thing  he  could  do.  His  mother  wants  him 
back,  he  tells  me,  and  he  would  do  much  better 
there  than  here.  Have  him  go  before  he  spends 
all  his  money." 

White  for  the  moment  was  nonplussed.  Then 
he  decided  that  it  would  be  better  to  acquaint  her 
with  the  exact  condition  of  affairs,  which  he  did 
as  briefly  as  possible,  adding  that  they  intended 
taking  him  to  their  Camp  as  soon  as  he  could  be 
moved. 

"  But  if  he  hasn't  any  money,  your  taking  him 
to  your  Camp  won't  do  him  any  good,  unless  he 
can  get  more  funds  from  his  mother,  and  he  is 
not  by  any  means  certain  of  this." 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?"  rejoined  White. 
"  He  cannot  remain  where  he  is,  that  is  evident. 
We'll  have  to  take  care  of  him  until  some  other 
arrangements  can  be  made." 

11  Send  him  home.  He  isn't  going  to  live  much 
longer  anyway,  and  he  might  better  die  at  home 
with  his  people  than  here  among  strangers.  A 
half-rate  ticket  can  be  procured  through  the  board 
of  supervisors  if  he's  really  destitute.  I  think  I 
can  manage  that  part  of  it,  if  his  friends  will  make 
up  the  money  to  pay  for  it.  Or,  there's  another 
way,  on  second  thoughts.  He  can  go  back  in 
charge  of  a  corpse.  The  railroad  companies  re- 
quire that  a  corpse  be  always  accompanied;  that 

47 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

is,  it  takes  two  first-class  tickets  to  transport  it. 
Except  for  his  sleeping-berth  and  meals,  he  can 
go  back  without  cost  in  that  way.  IVe  had  con- 
siderable experience  in  these  matters.  By  the  time 
he's  well  enough  to  travel,  some  one  is  almost  sure 
to  die  and  have  to  be  sent  home." 

The  woman  spoke  in  a  business-like,  energetic 
manner,  totally  unconscious  of  there  being  any- 
thing anomalous  or  incongruous  in  her  proposition. 

The  spectacle  of  a  dying  man  awaiting  such  an 
opportunity,  and  then  taking  the  three-thousand- 
mile  journey  under  such  conditions,  rose  up  dra- 
matically before  White,  and  journalist  that  he 
was,  he  thought  of  the  newspaper  article  that 
might  be  made  of  it. 

"  It  oversteps  the  line  of  pathos,"  he  said,  when 
they  were  outside,  the  break  in  his  voice  disguised 
by  the  grin  summoned  to  his  features.  "  There 
is  something  grotesque,  sardonic,  almost  ludicrous 
in  such  a  proposition.  That  a  sentient  human  be- 
ing should  be  so  the  sport  of  circumstance !  We'll 
have  him  out  to  the  Camp  anyway,  and  later,  he 
can  do  as  he  likes  about  going  home;  but  if  he 
decides  to  go,  he  don't  go  with  no  corpse  (it  was 
the  custom  of  the  Camp  to  multiply  negatives 
when  desiring  to  add  force  to  a  statement),  not 
if  the  Court  knows  herself.  He'll  go  unincum- 
bered if  I  have  to  pay  his  fare  myself.     I  hope 

48 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

he'll  be  able  to  come  with  us  to-morrow.    I'd  like 
to  get  him  away  from  there." 

But  when  they  came  for  him  the  next  morning, 
he  had  already  taken  his  long  journey,  the  journey 
which  each  must  take  alone.  Hamer  had  gone 
home. 


49 


CHAPTER    III 

FROM  out  a  storm  of  bitterness  and  self-scorn, 
with  his  neck  bowed  to  the  yoke,  Brans- 
combe  had  come  to  the  desert  in  much  the  same 
frame  of  mind  as  formerly  the  hunted  criminal 
ran  to  sanctuary.  His  coming  to  the  West  seemed 
to  him  always  after,  like  a  flight  to  cover,  not  a 
course  in  which  he  had  any  choice.  True,  he  had 
no  pursuers, — he  was  escaping  from  himself  only, 
but  his  plight  seemed  none  the  less  desperate  to 
him.  He  came  in  September,  six  weeks  or  more 
before  the  invalids  began  coming  in  any  numbers, 
selecting  a  location  a  few  miles  from  town  and 
near  a  car  line,  where  he  pitched  his  tent,  taking 
his  meals  at  a  ranch-house  near  by.  This  would 
do  as  a  preliminary,  he  thought.  Later,  when  he 
should  have  acquired  some  experience  of  the  coun- 
try, he  would  go  well  out  into  the  desert.  That 
was  what  he  would  like,  he  thought;  to  get  far 
away,  for  a  while  at  least,  from  the  presence  of  any 
human  being.  He  had  seen  enough  of  people  to 
last  him  a  long  while.  He  would  have  to  have 
an  Indian  or  two  to  attend  to  his  wants,  to  go 

50 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

into  town  for  supplies,  etc.,  but  they  wouldn't 
count.  In  anticipation  he  already  saw  himself  out 
there,  his  tents  and  ponies  making  an  imposing 
outfit,  the  trunkful  of  books  unpacked,  his  draw- 
ing materials  and  paints  at  hand. 

Meanwhile,  he  spent  many  hours  each  day  in 
the  saddle.  Purposely  cutting  himself  off  from 
humankind  in  his  resentment,  the  need  of  the 
human  for  sympathy,  for  comradery,  for  coopera- 
tion yet  remained,  and  the  pony  became  his  re- 
source. He  found  all  of  these  attributes  to  a 
limited  extent  in  his  broncho,  and  a  good  under- 
standing soon  became  established  between  horse 
and  rider. 

Usually,  he  had  no  particular  goal,  leaving 
the  decision  as  to  the  course  with  the  pony,  which, 
grown  weary  of  civilization  even  as  had  his  master, 
and  as  if  atavistically  recalling  scenes  of  former 
wildness,  always  took  to  the  desert,  on  being  given 
a  free  rein. 

The  lure  of  the  mountains — how  irresistibly 
they  invite,  with  what  force  they  attract  in  these 
desert  lands!  Their  colorings,  ever  changing 
according  to  the  hour,  the  distance,  or  the  atmos- 
pheric conditions — now  sapphire,  now  deepest 
purple  verging  into  black,  again  amethystine,  and 
at  sunset  flame-encircled  in  myriads  of  tones — 
were  a  phenomenon  of  which  he  never  tired. 

5* 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Sometimes  he  would  take  his  Indian  boy,  Loyola, 
along,  whose  stolidity  was  such  that  he  was  scarcely 
more  of  a  restraint  to  him  than  the  broncho.  On 
these  occasions  he  would  extend  his  trips  a  day's 
journey  or  more  into  the  mountains,  where  he 
would  camp  for  the  night,  returning  by  a  different 
route.  Only  the  barest  necessities  were  taken  on 
these  mountain  trips;  sleeping-bags,  canteens  for 
water,  bacon,  hardtack,  and  coffee. 

As  with  all  quiet  people  to  whom  conversation 
does  not  come  easily  or  spontaneously,  he  had  a 
good  flow  of  thought,  and  found  it  no  hardship 
to  be  alone.  His  thoughts,  when  not  too  disci- 
plinary, served  to  beguile  him.  In  the  profound 
silence  of  these  wastes,  seemingly  as  yet  untrodden 
by  the  foot  of  man,  Fancy  could  unobstructedly 
weave  her  pictures  for  his  delectation,  and  he  felt 
less  alone  there,  than  sometimes  when  in  a  crowd. 

The  reserve  in  which  he  wrapped  himself,  the 
solitude  in  which  he  lived,  were  helpful  in  giving 
him  opportunity  for  reflection  and  assimilation. 
He  was  glad  to  be  here,  away  from  the  rattle  and 
bang  of  the  city,  where  he  might  settle  old  scores 
with  himself  and  think  out  a  new  plan  of  life. 

He  had  hitherto  failed  to  realize  any  of  the 
ideals  with  which  he  had  plentifully  supplied  him- 
self on  starting  out  in  life.  He  had  long  been 
pursuing  a   downward  course,   drifting  with  the 

52 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

current,  and  discontent  and  foreboding  had  grown 
apace  with  the  passing  years.  In  the  pursuit  of 
Pleasure,  which  had  chiefly  been  a  pursuit  rather 
than  an  attainment,  the  jade  ever  flying  from 
before  him,  pursue  he  her  never  so  ardently — 
these  ideals  had  been  allowed  to  slip  through  his 
fingers,  and  he  now  realized,  like  an  unsuccessful 
gambler,  that  he  had  been  a  loser  on  all  counts, 
staking  what  he  knew  to  be  best  for  a  doubtful 
gain  and  losing  both. 

Branscombe  never  quite  gave  up  his  faith  in 
himself,  and  this  is  perhaps  the  best  feature  of 
this  ofttime  pitiful  human  nature  of  ours,  that  no 
matter  how  often  we  fall,  we  are  always  ready  to 
rise  and  make  another  attempt. 

This  blase  man  of  the  world,  just  turned  thirty- 
six,  whose  black  hair  was  already  streaked  with 
gray,  who  had  tired  of  everything,  been  every- 
where, exhausted  everything,  had  come  to  the 
Southwest  almost  as  a  last  resource. 

To  such  a  pass  had  he  been  brought  in  the  old 
life  that  he  had  contemplated  suicide  as  an  escape 
from  the  thrall  of  things,  but  his  curiously  vacil- 
lating disposition  had  saved  him  from  this  crown- 
ing folly.  "  The  dice  of  God  are  always  loaded," 
said  Emerson.  To  have  lived  to  such  poor  pur- 
pose that  at  thirty-six  oblivion  came  to  be  the  best 
that  was  desired — here  was  food  for  reflection. 

53 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

Surely  the  fault  must  be  in  himself,  he  reflected 
with  a  humility  born  of  his  introspection. 

He  had  been  his  own  master  since  coming  of 
age,  his  parents  having  died  some  years  previous 
to  that  event.  He  was  their  only  child.  His 
father  had  been  a  physician  of  some  prominence, 
and  would  have  preferred  that  the  son  follow  in 
his  footsteps,  but  did  not  even  suggest  this  to  him, 
not  wishing  to  bias  him  in  any  way.  The  father 
died  during  the  young  man's  first  year  at  Harvard, 
and  the  mother,  always  rather  delicate,  followed 
him  a  year  later. 

This  left  him  quite  untrammeled  so  far  as  any 
real  authority  over  him  went.  True,  there  was  a 
guardian  who  had  been  appointed  at  the  same 
time  as  the  administrator,  as  he  was  still  a  minor, 
and  who  sought  to  counsel  him;  but,  as  guardian 
and  ward  were  two  hundred  miles  apart,  and  the 
divergence  of  their  views  of  life  was  still  greater, 
this  did  not  count  for  much. 

From  the  first,  the  guardian,  who  was  an  at- 
torney, assumed  as  a  matter  of  course  that  he 
would  begin  the  study  of  medicine  as  soon  as  the 
academic  course  was  finished.  He  frequently  re- 
ferred to  it  in  his  letters  as  if  it  were  a  settled 
fact,  and  did  not  concern  himself  much  in  the 
matter. 

But  the  junior  year  had  been  a  hard  one  for  the 
54 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

young  man,  owing  in  part  to  the  attraction  which 
the  city  began  to  exert  over  him,  and  the  conse- 
quent loss  of  time  from  his  studies.  So  hard  had 
it  been  that  he  had  been  barely  able  to  pull  through 
and  he  began  to  tire  of  the  whole  thing. 

"  You  assume  in  your  letters,"  he  wrote  his 
guardian  when  he  had  determined  on  his  course, 
"  that  it  is  all  settled  about  my  taking  up  the  study 
of  medicine.  I  think  it  only  right  to  tell  you  that 
I  have  no  such  intention.  There  is  no  reason  in 
the  world  why  I  should  be  a  physician  except  that 
my  father  was  one,  and  I  think  that  an  insufficient 
one.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  my  labor  in  acquiring 
an  academic  education  would  in  large  part  be  nulli- 
fied thereby.  Of  what  use  culture  when  you 
don't  have  the  leisure  to  enjoy  it?  My  father's 
case  is  an  example  to  me.  He  worked  all  the  time, 
seldom  being  able  to  read  anything  outside  the 
medical  journals.  And  no  one  will  contend  that 
the  medical  profession  in  itself  conduces  to  culture. 
Rather  the  reverse,  I  should  say.  There  is  not 
much  that  is  elevating  in  studying  about  sores  and 
the  many  other  disgusting  physical  ailments  that 
beset  humanity.  In  my  estimation,  it's  bad  art, 
that  last  act  of  Camille.  It  would  be  sufficient 
simply  to  allude  to  the  fact  that  she  was  dying  of 
consumption,  and  not  portray  anything  so  unpleas- 
ant before  an  audience  out  for  pleasure.    It  would 

55 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

depress  me,  too,  always  to  be  in  close  contact 
with  morbid,  unhealthy  people.  Their  egotism 
is  another  thing  that  I  could  never  adapt  myself 
to.  Invalids  seem  to  think  that  by  virtue  of  their 
disease,  everyone  should  defer  to  them,  that  they 
and  their  ailments  are  the  most  important  matters 
in  the  universe. 

"  Then  these  people  with  imaginary  ailments  to 
whom  you  have  to  give  a  placebo  and  sympathize 
with — these  were  the  greatest  trial  my  father  had 
to  contend  with.  I  must  say  I  don't  see  how  a  phy- 
sician can  have  any  patience  with  them !  They'd 
get  the  facts  of  the  case  from  me  if  by  doing  so 
I  made  enemies  of  them  for  life ! 

"  My  father  used  to  say,  too,  that  he  disliked 
taking  people's  money;  that  it  was  bad  enough  for 
them  to  be  sick  without  bleeding  them  in  addi- 
tion. The  physician,  I  take  it,  more  than  any 
other,,  should  be  an  altruist,  and  I  am  not  cut  out 
for  the  part. 

"*  "  But  my  strongest  objection  to  medicine  as  a 
profession  is  its  instability.  In  medicine  nothing 
is  ever  settled.  Much  of  what  my  father  studied 
so  painstakingly  in  his  student  days,  and  in  which 
there  was  such  difficulty  in  passing  the  examina- 
tions, had  all  to  be  unlearned  again  by  a  still  slower 
process  and  something  new  substituted  for  it, 
which  in  turn  has  long  ago  been  superseded  by 

S6 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

other  discoveries.  There  isn't  much  encourage- 
ment in  studying,  with  the  probability  ahead  of 
you  that  a  good  percentage  of  what  you  are  acquir- 
ing will  eventually  prove  to  be  wrong.  It  would 
make  me  still  more  vacillating  and  undecided  than 
I  naturally  am. 

"  I  grant  you  that  the  work  of  alleviating  suffer- 
ing, in  the  hands  of  capable  conscientious  men,  to 
whom  the  work  itself  is  of  more  moment  than  the 
money  reward,  is  noble  and  honorable  to  a  degree 
that  no  other  work  is.  I  frankly  confess  that  I 
am  not  disinterested  enough  for  this. 

11  My  mother  hoped  I  would  choose  a  business 
career.  She  always  maintained  that  the  most  re- 
spectable class  in  this  country  is  the  merchant  class, 
to  which  her  father  belonged — that  it  is  more 
dignified  to  hold  the  reins  and  control  things  than 
to  be  at  everyone's  beck  and  call  as  is  the  case  with 
professional  people.  A  business  career  like  that 
of  Grandfather  Larrimore  would  indeed  be  less 
distasteful  to  me  than  any  other,  provided  it  were 
necessary  for  me  to  earn  my  living.  But  I  shall 
not  have  to  earn  money.  From  what  you  have 
told  me,  as  well  as  my  mother,  I  know  that  my 
future  would  be  secure  if  I  never  earned  a  dollar. 
As  I  will  be  able  to  afford  it,  there  is  no  real  reason 
why  should  I  not  follow  my  bent.  And  Art  is 
really  the  one  thing  to  which  I  am  drawn.     Art 

57 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

endures.  Culture,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  thing  best 
worth  living  for.  Since  my  father  got  no  benefit 
from  his  life  of  drudgery,  it  seems  to  me  I  am  the 
more  entitled  to  it.  My  plan  (and  I  hope  you 
will  concur  in  it)  is  to  go  abroad  immediately  after 
Commencement." 

This  letter  brought  the  guardian  to  Cambridge 
within  a  few  days  after  receiving  it.  "  A  most 
amazing  young  man,"  was  his  thought  on  reading 
it  the  second  time.  "  I  must  see  him  at  once  and 
prevent  him  giving  up  his  college  course  in  any 
event.  In  these  matters  quick  action  is  necessary, 
before  the  idea  becomes  fixed  in  the  mind.  I  must 
get  him  to  continue  at  college  for  this  last  year 
under  any  circumstances.  By  that  time  his  better 
judgment  will  prevail." 

When  the  young  man  presented  himself  at  the 
hotel  where  his  guardian  was  stopping,  in  response 
to  a  telephone  call,  the  latter,  feeling  that  he  had 
the  right  on  his  side,  looked  forward  to  an  easy 
victory.  The  young  fellow  looked  so  clean  and 
wholesome,  so  well-bred  and  intelligent,  that  he 
would  be  sure  to  see  the  subject  in  the  right  light, 
when  he  should  be  through  with  him.  But  when 
the  young  man  warmed  up  to  his  subject,  the  elder 
began  to  have  his  doubts. 

"  My  father  used  to  say,"  said  Branscombe, 
rebutting  a  statement  of  the  guardian  that  medi- 

S8 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

cine  must  be  the  most  interesting  profession  going 
— "  my  father  used  to  say  that  if  there's  a  fool 
side  to  people  they  seem  willing  and  anxious  to 
exhibit  it  to  the  physician,  no  matter  how  carefully 
they  conceal  it  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world;  and 
then  he  quoted  from  Voltaire :  *  Les  hommes  sont 
partout  egalement  fous!  " 

"  Yet  your  father  wanted  you  to  take  up  the 
study  of  it  as  soon  as  you  had  graduated.  He 
spoke  to  me  on  the  subject  once,  some  years  ago." 

"  He  never  said  anything  to  me  about  it,  and 
my  mother  was  opposed  to  it,  as  I  said  in  my  letter. 
Father  used  to  tell  my  mother  that  people  were 
such  fools  where  the  doctor  was  concerned,  that 
only  a  man  of  unusual  probity  could  resist  taking 
advantage  of  them,  and  I  quite  agree  with  him  in 
this  finding.  You  will  hear  the  most  intelligent 
people  say,  *  My  doctor  orders  me  to  do  so  and 
so,'  or,  *  Dr.  Blank  says  I  must ! '  etc.,  etc.,  just 
as  if  they  had  no  volition  in  the  matter.  The  in- 
credible part  is  that  while  the  physician  is  quite 
as  fallible  as  the  average  mortal,  people  always 
take  him  seriously,  obeying  his  orders  for  the  most 
part  unquestioningly,  often  against  their  better 
judgment,  and  sometimes  continue  when  they 
know  it  to  be  to  their  injury.  My  father  said  once 
that  he  had  people  come  to  his  office  who,  if  di- 
rected by  him  to  go  out  on  the  street  at  a  certain 

59 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

hour  every  day  and  stand  on  their  heads,  would 
try  to  carry  out  the  order.  And  then  he  mimicked 
one  in  a  high-pitched  voice :  '  Doctor  says  I  must 
go  out  every  morning  and  stand  on  my  head.  I 
don't  know  why;  I  don't  see  what  good  that  will 
do,  but  he  tells  me  to,  and  I  suppose  I'll  have  to.' 

"  Father  wound  up  that  time  by  saying  that  he 
had  lost  respect  for  the  entire  human  race  through 
being  in  the  medical  profession." 

14  Your  father  was  inclined  to  be  cynical,  I  think, 
in  his  later  years." 

"  It's  enough  to  make  any  one  cynical,  to  be 
always  looking  for  a  little  common  sense  in  the 
people  you  meet  and  never  finding  it.  At  first,  it 
seemed  a  huge  joke  to  him  to  have  people  take 
him  so  seriously,  hanging  on  his  words  as  if  they 
were  inspired.  Then  he  used  to  experiment  with 
them,  trying  to  tax  their  credulity,  but  everything 
went." 

11  The  introspective,  analytical  mind,  such  as 
your  father  possessed,  is  more  apt  at  discovering 
defects  than  good  qualities.  He  probably  would 
have  found  as  much  to  criticise  in  any  other  voca- 
tion that  he  might  have  chosen." 

"  He  told  a  woman  once  that  there  was  great 
benefit  to  be  had  from  bread  pills  properly  made 
and  judiciously  administered,  and  actually  got  her 
to  make  them  herself.     After  giving  her  minute 

60 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

directions  as  to  the  mode  of  preparing  them,  in 
the  making  of  which  he  said  she  must  use  only 
perfectly  fresh  baker's  bread,  he  prescribed  a  regi- 
men for  her  to  the  effect  that  she  must  go  without 
breakfast,  abandon  coffee  entirely,  and  take  one 
of  her  bread  pills  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  meals. 
The  joke  of  it  was,  she  actually  improved  under 
the  treatment,  and  went  about  telling  people  what 
a  good  doctor  he  was.  The  lawyer  isn't  spoiled 
in  this  way,  I  know." 

"  The  attorney  advises  and  counsels,  but  acts 
on  his  own  initiative  in  many  cases.  If  his  ability 
to  handle  the  case  is  questioned,  he  retires  from 
the  case  much  as  does  a  physician." 

11  But  he  doesn't  order!  he  advises  and  counsels, 
and  only  when  his  advice  coincides  with  the  better 
judgment  of  his  client  is  it  followed.  And  the 
lawyer  doesn't  usually  make  any  important  move 
without  the  knowledge  and  consent  of  the  client. 
A  good  litigant,  the  kind  that  wins  out,  generally 
knows  at  least  as  much  about  his  case  as  does  the 
lawyer.  Sometimes  he  knows  more.  If  people 
used  the  common  sense  in  their  relations  with  phy- 
sicians as  with  their  lawyers — in  other  words,  if 
they  would  study  up  their  case  so  as  to  be  able 
to  cooperate  intelligently  rather  than  to  follow 
blindly,  it  would  result  in  many  more  cases  being 
found  amenable  to  treatment. 

61 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  And  the  lawyer  really  would  be  more  justified 
in  giving  orders  than  advice,  as  he  is  on  surer 
ground.  There  is  something  stable  about  the  law. 
The  lawyer  knows  just  what  results  a  certain  move 
will  produce.  My  mother  had  many  talks  with 
me  on  the  subject  during  the  year  she  lived  here 
after  my  father^  death,  and  she  confirmed  my 
own  preconceived  ideas  in  the  matter." 

"  Well,  would  you  be  willing  to  compromise  on 
the  law?  By  the  way  you  argue  your  case  perhaps 
this  would  be  the  best  course,"  said  the  guardian, 
his  eyes  twinkling.  "  However,  don't  decide 
hastily.  Finish  your  course,  and,  if  you  like,  you 
might,  after  graduating,  go  abroad  for  a  year  be- 
fore beginning  the  serious  work  of  life." 

"  I  don't  need  to  compromise,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  shall  soon  be  my  own  master,  and  intend  to  live 
my  own  life.  I  must  do  the  best  possible  with  it. 
Don't  mistake  me ;  that  which  seems  right  for  one 
will  not  do  at  all  for  another.  Each  individual 
is  unique  of  his  kind.  I  am  glad  to  be  different. 
I  am  an  individualist  to  the  core.  If  I've  learned 
nothing  else  here,  I  have  this,  and  I've  learned  it 
principally  from  those  in  my  class  who  incline  the 
other  way.  Many  of  the  men  here  are  taken  up 
with  sociology  and  talk  big  about  being  collec- 
tivists,  and  the  duty  of  the  individual  to  the  whole. 
I  wish  to  accentuate  my  individuality  rather  than 

62 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

merge  it.  Admirable  as  it  may  be  to  devote  your- 
self to  the  common  cause,  to  take  the  part  of  the 
under  dog,  it's  not  my  vocation;  it  involves  a  de- 
gree of  self-abnegation  that  is  altogether  foreign 
to  me.  I'd  rather  play  the  part  of  Nietzsche's 
Superman,  developing,  augmenting  at  the  cost  of 
others  if  need  be;  I  have  no,  desire  to  sacrifice 
myself  for  the  good  of  the  race.  My  aim  is  to 
improve  this  ego  that  I  call  myself — to  bring  it 
up  to  its  highest  state  of  efficiency — to  make  the 
most  out  of  it  that  is  possible." 

"  You  cannot  do  that  better  than  by  remaining 
right  here  until  you  graduate.  A  year  longer  will 
do  it,  with  hard  work.  Don't  disappoint  the  ex- 
pectations of  your  friends.  Graduate  first;  then, 
if  you  are  still  of  the  same  opinion,  I  will  make  no 
more  opposition." 

But  this  did  not  meet  the  young  man's  views, 
and,  as  he  lacked  only  a  few  months  of  his  major- 
ity, attaining  it  before  the  fall  term  began,  he 
took  the  matter  into  his  own  hands.  In  conjunc- 
tion with  the  administrator,  he  adjusted  his  affairs 
during  the  summer,  making  preparations  for  a 
long  absence,  after  which,  he  proceeded  direct  to 
Paris. 


63 


CHAPTER    IV 

BRANSCOMBE  remained  abroad  nearly  ten 
years,  spending  most  of  his  time  in  Paris, 
ostensibly  in  the  study  of  art.  He  established 
himself  in  luxurious  bachelor  quarters,  leading  a 
more  or  less  Sybaritic  existence,  dabbling  in  music 
and  literature,  achieving  nothing  in  any  direction. 
Selfishness,  listlessness,  waste  of  opportunity,  abso- 
lute uselessness — the  so-called  small  sins,  which 
taken  en  masse,  are  more  soul-corroding  than 
crime — these  had  been  the  things  by  which  he  had 
been  led,  and  which  had  well-nigh  wrought  his 
ruin. 

The  awakening  had  come  through  a  crisis,  an 
upheaval,  from  which  he  at  last  had  come  to  a 
realization  of  himself.  A  boat  accident  in  which 
his  companion  had  lost  her  life,  and  in  which  his 
own  had  been  jeopardized,  had  brought  him  up 
by  a  sharp  turn. 

It  was  while  with  a  yachting  party  on  Long 
Island  Sound  that  the  tragedy  had  occurred,  which, 
for  the  time  being  at  least,  had  changed  the  current 
of  his  life.  And  it  had  been  brought  about  by 
what  at  first  had  seemed  a  very  simple,  unimportant 

64 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

circumstance.  Looking  aft,  in  the  midst  of  the 
champagne  drinking,  Branscombe  had  caught  sight 
of  the  dinghy  trailing  at  the  stern,  and  asked  the 
lady  sitting  next  to  him  to  occupy  it  with  him  for 
a  while.  There  was  no  sailing-master  aboard, 
the  owner  feeling  himself  competent  to  handle  the 
little  craft,  and  as  no  objection  was  offered  to  the 
project,  the  transfer  to  the  small  boat  was  made, 
though  not  without  some  difficulty,  as  already  the 
wind  was  fresh. 

As  it  increased  in  violence,  some  of  the  party 
were  for  taking  in  a  reef,  but  the  skipper,  with 
the  elation  due  to  the  champagne,  as  well  as  the 
swift  motion  of  the  boat  through  the  water,  would 
not  consider  this,  and  the  yacht  sped  along  at 
a  spanking  rate.  The  momentum  soon  became 
such,  that  the  small  boat,  trailing  behind,  was 
thrashed  from  side  to  side  with  such  force  that 
the  occupants  were  unable  to  retain  their  seats. 
Buffeted  about,  their  bodies  bruised  and  sore,  they 
were  in  momentary  peril  of  being  thrown  over- 
board, the  party  on  the  yacht  meanwhile  being 
totally  unconscious  of  their  plight.  Branscombe's 
companion  frantically  appealed  to  him  for  help, 
but  when  he  signified,  mostly  by  motion,  that  the 
only  thing  he  could  do  was  to  attempt  to  climb 
along  the  hawser  and  so  reach  the  yacht,  she  clung 
to  him  in  an  agony  of  terror  at  the  thought  of 

65 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

being  left  alone.  He  shouted  himself  hoarse,  but 
the  wind  and  the  swashing  of  the  water  against 
the  hull,  prevented  his  cries  from  being  heard 
by  the  party,  evidently  too  much  engrossed  in  their 
own  affairs  to  consider  the  others  much. 

Finally,  a  heavy  lurch  in  an  unguarded  moment 
threw  his  companion  so  that  her  head  struck  the 
gunwale,  and  she  was  rendered  unconscious. 

His  own  condition  was  precarious;  his  body 
seemed  bruised  all  over  from  the  buffeting  it  was 
undergoing  —  his  eyeballs  seemed  on  fire  —  his 
throat  constricted.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
do  anything  for  his  companion  beyond  preventing 
her  from  being  washed  overboard.  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  the  man  that,  while  formerly  he  had 
cared  nothing  for  his  life,  and  had  often  justified 
suicide,  now  that  death  was  imminent,  he  found 
himself  most  unwilling  to  meet  it. 

How  he  longed  for  succor,  not  alone  on  his 
companion's  account,  but,  be  it  said,  on  his  own 
too!  After  all,  life  was  sweet,  something  so 
precious  that  only  a  fool  would  throw  it  away. 
Could  he  but  reach  the  yacht!  He  would  give 
everything  that  he  possessed  to  be  once  more 
safe.  He  began  to  despair  of  attracting  the  atten- 
tion of  his  party.  He  remembered  their  parting 
injunction,  to  ring  if  he  wanted  any  more  cham- 
pagne; it  seemed  ages  to  him  since  he  had  heard 

66 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

this  badinage.  In  the  imminence  of  the  danger 
he  realized  that  he  was  as  far  from  help  practi- 
cally, as  if  he  had  been  cast  adrift.  He  began 
considering  whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  to 
cut  the  hawser,  and  so  at  least  relieve  the  tugging, 
which  every  moment  threatened  to  pitch  them 
overboard.  But  he  realized  that  he  would  soon 
be  left  behind  by  the  yacht  at  the  rate  she  was 
scudding  ahead,  and  that  she  might  get  miles 
away  before  they  would  be  missed.  It  was  near 
nightfall;  once  separated  from  the  yacht,  all  help 
from  that  quarter  would  have  to  be  abandoned. 

Could  he  row  to  shore  in  his  almost  disabled 
condition?  They  were  some  miles  from  land,  and 
the  sea  was  running  high;  he  might  be  swamped; 
he  might  be  run  into  by  one  of  the  big  steamers; 
the  new  peril  might  be  worse  than  the  present  one. 
He  decided  to  remain  where  he  was,  clinging  to 
the  possibility  that  the  others  might  come  to  his 
relief  at  any  moment. 

Finally,  it  occurred  to  him  to  attempt  throwing 
something  into  the  yacht  to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  others.  He  took  off  his  shoes,  and  threw 
them,  one  at  a  time,  aiming  for  the  deck  near  the 
cockpit,  but  his  arm  v/as  bruised  and  sore,  and  the 
small  boat  lurched  to  such  an  extent  that  they  fell 
wide  of  the  mark.  A  silver  dollar  was  then  tried 
but  with  no  better  result.     His  match-box  also 

67 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

went  by  the  board  and  he  was  in  despair  for  a 
while.  Then,  goaded  to  desperation  he  removed 
the  shoes  from  the  feet  of  his  companion,  and, 
taking  a  wet  newspaper  that  lay  in  the  bottom  of 
the  dinghy,  he  fastened  it  between  them  with  his 
braces,  making  a  kind  of  ball  with  it.  With  this 
he  was  more  successful,  landing  it  in  the  cockpit. 
In  the  effort  of  throwing  it,  however,  he  had  risen 
in  order  to  get  a  surer  aim,  and,  a  heavy  sea  strik- 
ing the  dinghy,  she  careened  almost  to  the  point 
of  capsizing.  She  soon  righted,  but  when  he  was 
able  to  look  about  him  he  found  himself  alone  in 
the  boat;  his  companion  had  been  washed  over- 
board. 

Meanwhile,  the  skipper  had  begun  hauling 
in  the  mainsail  in  order  to  come  to  their  relief, 
when  Branscombe  succeeded  in  acquainting  the 
others  with  the  catastrophe,  upon  which  the  yacht 
was  immediately  put  about  in  search  for  the  body. 
But  it  was  growing  dusk  and  there  was  a  sea  run- 
ning; they  cruised  about  for  an  hour  or  more 
without  avail,  and  were  finally  compelled  to  give 
up  the  search  and  return,  seeing  the  hopelessness 
of  continuing  it  longer. 

When  they  made  port  Branscombe  reported  the 
matter  to  the  authorities,  and  was  held  to  await  the 
finding  of  the  coroner's  jury. 

It  was  midsummer  and  no  murder  had  occurred 
68 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

within  the  vicinity  of  New  York  for  a  month  past. 
There  had  been  a  dearth  of  other  news,  and  the 
papers  took  up  the  matter  with  avidity,  demanding 
a  rigid  inquiry.  When  the  body  floated  in  to  shore 
a  few  days  thereafter,  another  sensation  was  pro- 
duced by  the  fact  that  the  lady's  shoes  were  miss- 
ing, which  was  commented  on  with  headlines  half 
a  foot  in  length  by  some  of  the  papers.  It  was 
openly  charged  that  murder  had  probably  been 
committed,  the  absence  of  the  shoes  being  sup- 
posed to  furnish  evidence  in  this  direction. 

At  the  inquest,  to  which  each  of  the  party  had 
been  subpoenaed,  it  was  brought  out  that  they  had 
been  indulging  freely  in  champagne  at  the  time  of 
the  occurrence.  The  owner  of  the  yacht  was  cen- 
sured for  this,  and  also  for  having  no  competent 
person  in  command.  Had  there  been  a  sailing- 
master  aboard,  such  use  of  the  small  boat,  the 
newspapers  pointed  out,  would  not  have  been  per- 
mitted. 

It  was  Branscombe,  however,  who  had  to  stand 
the  brunt  of  the  examination,  and  the  press  con- 
tinued to  score  him  as  being  the  principal  actor  in 
the  tragedy,  demanding  that  the  Grand  Jury  look 
into  the  matter.  It  was  pointed  out  by  the  more 
conservative  of  the  journals,  which  had  refrained 
from  the  murder  charge,  that,  as  the  cross-seats 
of  the  dinghy  were  fastened  down,  comparative 

69 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

safety  might  have  been  obtained  for  the  lady 
had  she  been  directed  to  brace  herself  under 
one  of  them.  Branscombe  was  called  sharply 
to  account  for  this  oversight,  as  well  as  for 
not  having  at  once,  on  noticing  the  danger, 
cut  the  hawser  before  he  became  disabled,  in  which 
event  he  would  have  been  able  to  row  to  shore  in 
case  he  had  not  been  observed  by  the  party  on 
the  larger  boat. 

Short  biographies  of  his  family  appeared,  with 
illustrations.  A  photo-engraving  of  his  grand- 
father Larrimore,  in  old-fashioned  stock  and 
standing  collar,  taken  from  a  painting  in  one  of 
the  libraries,  appeared  in  a  Sunday  paper,  together 
with  a  reproduction  of  the  Larrimore  warehouses, 
from  whence  the  family  fortune  had  come.  And 
many  a  sermonette  was  preached;  many  a  warn- 
ing read  off  and  eagerly  absorbed  by  the  public 
anent  this  prodigal  son,  this  gilded  youth,  this 
gray-haired  roue,  by  all  of  which  titles  he  was 
alluded  to. 

They  gave  too,  an  illustration  of  Branscombe 
Manor  in  Northumberland,  to  the  present  occu- 
pant of  which  his  father  had  been  cousin.  They 
went  into  minute  details  of  the  life  there,  what 
they  had  for?  breakfast,  the  house-parties  they 
gave,  how  my  lady,  although  upward  of  seventy, 
was  a  most  indefatigable  society  woman,  with  a 

70 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

picture  of  her  in  ball  costume — how  they  employed 
twenty  servants,  and  much  other  information  cal- 
culated to  throw  light  on  the  mystery. 

His  past  life  was  put  under  the  searchlight  and 
whatever  of  discreditable  action  that  could  be 
brought  forward  was  unearthed  and  given  pub- 
licity. They  facetiously  discussed,  in  cold  type, 
his  relations  with  Miss  Pinkie  Bellmore,  a  former 
vaudeville  favorite,  popular  in  the  Tenderloin 
district,  to  whom,  they  said,  he  had  reached  out 
a  helping  hand,  enabling  her  to  graduate  from  so 
questionable  a  mode  of  life  into  an  establishment 
exclusively  her  own  in  an  uptown  apartment 
house,  where  she  was  known  as  Mrs.  Adelaide 
Atkinson — at  least  that  was  the  name  under  the 
bell-button — where  she  lived  in  the  strictest  retire- 
ment, denying  herself  to  all  callers  except  her 
patron. 

Unsavory  stories  of  other  members  of  the  party 
were  also  adduced  in  the  effort  to  throw  light  on 
the  matter. 

Notoriety  of  a  certain  kind,  the  kind  that  was 
not  inconsistent  with  respectability,  they  were  not 
averse  to;  quite  the  contrary!  rather  was  it  to  be 
courted,  in  a  world  so  large  and  with  the  aver- 
age individual  so  insignificant.  But  notoriety  that 
has  to  do  with  police  inquiry — that  was  quite 
a  different  matter.    They  felt  virtuously  indignant 

71 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

that  they  should  be  subjected  to  this,  and  blamed 
Branscombe  for  it,  holding  themselves  aloof,  criti- 
cizing him  severely  for  having  proposed  the  use 
of  the  small  boat  from  which  all  the  trouble  had 
sprung. 

They  blamed  him  too  for  his  lack  of  resource 
in  not  being  able  to  extricate  himself,  after  plung- 
ing into  the  difficulty.  It  was  like  him;  he  never 
had  any  savoir  faire,  any  initiative,  they  told  one 
another.  What  a  fiasco  he  had  made  of  his  detec- 
tive part  that  time  in  the  farce,  when  all  that  was 
required  of  him  was  to  go  on  the  stage  with  a 
tray  as  a  waiter  and  look  stupid  while  gathering 
evidence  for  the  divorce.  Not  even  to  have  sense 
enough  for  that!  True,  he  had  been  urged  to  it 
against  his  will  and  without  any  preparation, 
Winslow,  who  was  to  have  assumed  the  part, 
having  missed  a  train,  and  wired  that  he  could 
not  make  it,  and  that  they  must  put  some  one  else 
in  his  place — but  why  should  he  undertake  it  if 
he  couldn't  come  out  of  it  all  right?  A  man  ought 
to  be  equal  to  his  emergency.  And  now  he  had 
compromised  them  all.  They  were  not  greatly 
given  to  Biblical  quotations,  Branscombe's  friends, 
but  one  of  them,  Bainbridge,  repeating  a  motto 
from  Proverbs  on  his  calendar,  the  gist  of  which 
was  that  a  man  might  better  meet  a  bear  robbed 
of  her  whelps  rather  than  a  fool  in  his  folly,  said 

72 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

that  he  now  indorsed  everything  that  Solomon 
had  ever  said  about  fools,  and  that  they  were  more 
to  be  shunned  than  the  proverbially  unlucky  man. 

In  their  resentment  they  influenced  others 
against  him,  so  that  he  found  himself  almost  alone 
in  his  trouble.  Almost.  There  was  one  exception. 
One  had  remained  true,  sending  him  each  morn- 
ing during  his  detention  in  the  Tombs  and  for  a 
week  after  his  release  a  bunch  of  violets,  the  donor 
remaining  anonymous.  At  first  he  speculated  long 
as  to  the  author  of  the  little  gifts,  the  violets  re- 
minding him  of  his  Paris  days,  but  could  come  to 
no  conclusion  in  the  matter. 

He  knew  his  friends  well  enough  to  be  able  to 
imagine  pretty  nearly  the  sort  of  talk  that  was 
being  circulated  about  him — the  sneers,  the  whis- 
pered inuendoes,  in  which  charges  ranging  from 
cowardice  to  murder  were  going  the  rounds;  he 
had  helped  in  this  kind  of  thing  himself  with 
others  as  the  butt — it  was  all  quite  familiar.  And 
now  it  had  come  home  to  him.  It  had  come  to 
this,  that  he  had  brought  the  good  old  family 
names  into  disrepute.  His  sins  at  last  had  found 
him  out.  Like  the  fox  of  which  Kant  writes,  that 
is  to  be  punished  not  for  any  particular  act  of 
thieving,  but  rather  for  being  the  kind  of  animal 
that  prefers  to  make  its  living  by  thieving,  so  was 
it  with  him;  he  had  chosen  this  kind  of  life,  of 

73 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

which  such  visitations  as  he  was  now  undergoing 
were  only  to  be  predicated,  and  though  innocent 
in  this  particular  instance,  he  recognized  that  he 
was  being  punished  on  general  principles. 

A  curious  humility  took  possession  of  him.  It 
was  as  if,  in  the  conduct  of  his  friends  toward  him 
in  his  trouble,  he  for  the  first  time  recognized  his 
own  conduct  and  the  character  that  had  inspired 
it — this  thoroughly  selfish  character,  albeit  his 
own,  which  had  been  revealed  to  him;  this  char- 
acter, which  in  his  self-scorn  it  seemed  to  him  had 
scarcely  a  redeeming  trait. 

Spiritual  stresses  held  him  in  thrall.  Among 
all  the  medley  of  emotions  caused  by  the  revela- 
tion, shame  and  surprise  came  to  the  fore.  That 
he  should  have  so  deteriorated,  so  have  degener- 
ated from  the  good  old  stock  from  which  he  had 
sprung !  He  was  like  one  under  conviction  of  sin. 
He  stood  before  his  conscience  shorn  of  all  guise 
— shamed — humiliated. 

The  patterns  which  come  out  on  the  web  of 
our  lives  are  after  all  of  our  own  weaving.  We 
become  what  we  aim  to  become ;  we  are  that  which 
we  have  striven  to  be,  whether  for  good  or  for  ill. 
If  the  results  do  not  please  us,  we  have  only  our- 
selves to  blame.  His  life  all  along  had  been  in- 
extricably mixed  up  in  the  folly  and  selfishness  o£ 
others.     Those  ideals  which  he  had  been  so  sure 

74 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  realizing  might  have  been  pursued  to  a  success- 
ful culmination  had  he  possessed  the  independence 
to  think  and  act  for  himself.  There  was  the 
trouble!  He  had  always  been  willing  to  be  led, 
he  reflected,  like  a  dog  on  a  chain;  he  had  never 
had  the  courage  of  his  convictions — had  never 
been  able  to  summon  the  initiative  by  which  he 
might  have  gone  his  own  way,  rather  than  that 
of  others.  True,  he  had  asserted  himself  well 
enough  in  his  contest  with  his  guardian  on  the 
question  of  his  career,  but  that  was  to  enable  him 
the  better  to  have  his  fling;  even  in  this  he  had 
deceived  himself,  as  well  as  the  other. 

At  the  medical  examination  that  he  underwent, 
his  own  bodily  condition  furnished  ample  proof 
of  the  truth  of  his  statement  as  to  the  buffeting 
he  had  received  in  the  small  boat.  He  would 
come  out  of  the  difficulty  all  right  so  far  as  the 
Coroner's  jury  went;  he  felt  no  apprehension  on 
that  score,  but  he  realized  all  the  same  that  a  turn- 
ing-point had  been  reached;  it  was  as  if  a  voice 
had  said  to  him,  u  Thus  far  and  no  farther."  His 
house  of  cards  had  tumbled  about  him;  he  must 
build  anew;  he  would  endeavor  to  build  better,  he 
resolved. 

There  was  cause  for  disquietude  in  another  di- 
rection also,  which  had  had  its  effect  in  sending 
him  to  the  West.     He  had  been  living  beyond  his 

75 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

means,  always  intending  to  go  into  business 
"  some  time."  The  fliers  he  had  taken  in  Wall 
Street  had  generally  turned  out  to  be  sinkers. 
Other  deals  in  the  way  of  investments  had  panned 
out  poorly.  It  would  not  do  to  encroach  further 
on  his  capital,  the  only  security  against  the  future 
for  such  as  he.  As  it  was,  the  income  would  not 
suffice  for  his  needs,  for  his  many  artificial  wants, 
if  he  remained  in  the  city. 

But  why  remain  in  the  city?  What  did  it  have 
to  offer  him  of  which  he  had  not  already  a  satiety? 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  exhausted  all  the 
possibilities  of  sensuous  enjoyment.  In  some  ob- 
scure recess  of  his  mind  a  voice  raised  itself,  faint 
at  first,  but  becoming  more  insistant  as  the  days 
wore  on,  asking  for  work  instead  of  voluptuous 
ease,  for  duty  to  replace  the  happiness  he  had  so 
long  vainly  sought. 

The  free  life  of  the  far  West  began  to  attract 
him.  He  had  once  met  some  Arizona  cattlemen 
in  New  York — Rough  Riders  returning  from  the 
Cuban  war,  and  had  become  well  acquainted  with 
two  in  particular  in  the  few  days  of  their  tarrying 
in  the  city  en  route  to  the  West.  The  people  had 
vied  with  each  other  in  showing  them  attentions, 
and  he  had  fallen  into  line  with  the  rest.  He 
had  been  impressed  at  the  time  by  their  bear- 
ing,  their  perfect  health,    their  evident  content- 

76 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ment.  How  well  they  carried  themselves  in  this 
novel  environment!  With  his  life-long  habit  of 
introspection,  he  had  often  since  drawn  compari- 
sons between  his  own  life  and  theirs.  Plainly, 
their  lives  were  being  lived  to  much  better  purpose 
than  was  his.  He  thought  of  the  kind  of  life  that 
could  be  lived  there — the  saneness  of  it,  the  health- 
fulness  of  it,  and  decided  to  go  and  try  it. 

He  made  no  plans  beyond  the  immediate  present 
on  arriving  in  Arizona;  he  would  wait  and  see 
what  the  future  had  in  store  for  him.  The  transi- 
tion going  on  within  himself — might  he  not  hope 
that  it  would  lead  to  better  things?  This  man 
of  wrong  courses  but  right  instincts  had  indeed 
often  hoped  for  this,  but  his  environment  hitherto 
had  held  him  in  thrall  as  to  an  evil  destiny.  Now 
that  he  had  separated  himself  from  it,  in  this 
new  perspective  in  which  self-deception  was  no 
longer  possible  or  to  be  tolerated,  now  that  he 
could  see  his  limitations,  and  know  himself  as  he 
was — might  there  not  yet  be  a  chance  for  him  to 
do  something  with  his  life? 

A  passionate  longing  to  become  regenerate,  to 
live  in  such  a  way  that  life  would  have  a  meaning 
for  him  as  it  so  evidently  had  for  others,  took 
possession  of  him  at  times.  He  had  read  some- 
where of  a  character  in  a  novel  in  whom,  while 
trying  to  reconcile  bad  actions  with  good  inten- 

77 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

tions,  an  inward  drama  and  argument  continually 
went  on.  With  him  there  was  the  inward  drama, 
though  not  the  argument;  he  could  not  but  acqui- 
esce in  the  summary  of  the  mentor  ever  at  his 
side,  pointing  out  to  him  wherein  he  had  erred; 
he  made  no  plea,  the  censure  and  the  upbraiding 
seeming  to  be  part  of  the  discipline  he  had  to  un- 
dergo. At  least  it  was  life — this  awakening  that 
had  come  to  him;  and  to  be  thoroughly  alive — 
even  if  it  were  to  suffer — this  was  better  than  the 
old  listlessness.  For  though  the  road  was  rough 
and  toilsome,  it  might  in  time  be  overcome;  he 
•acquiesced  in  it  all,  hoping  that  a  way  of  salvation 
might  yet  be  adduced  thereby. 

In  his  long  rides,  when  sometimes  for  the  entire 
day  he  did  not  exchange  a  word  even  with  his 
servant,  his  thoughts  often  dwelt  on  these  things, 
but  without  any  very  great  faith  in  their  realiza- 
tion. He  hoped  however  for  higher  standards,  for 
a  life  of  simplicity  and  reality.  He  at  least  desired 
something  better,  and  that  seemed  some  gain. 

Humility  grew  within  him  with  his  acquisition 
of  self-knowledge.  How  much  better  the  char- 
acter of  these  people  about  him,  the  one  they  called 
the  Deacon,  for  instance,  who  was  one  of  the 
first  on  the  ground,  and  whose  fine,  open  counte- 
nance had  attracted  his  attention — how  much  bet- 
ter than  his  own.    The  picture  that  he  saw  of  him- 

78 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

self,  compared  with  this,  brought  on  the  self-scorn 
anew  when  he  contemplated  it.  This  was  his 
mental  attitude  while  taking  his  first  steps  in  the 
difficult  path  of  self-conquest,  and  by  it  influx  of 
light  came  to  him. 

The  desert  is  the  place  for  reflection,  as  is  the 
outer  world  for  action.  In  these  vast  distances — 
these  deep  silences — in  the  infinite  harmony  of 
Nature — here,  if  anywhere,  may  the  spirit  of  man 
come  to  its  own. 


*- 


79 


CHAPTER   V 

AS  time  wore  on,  Branscombe's  grievances 
began  to  abate.  He  was  too  young  and 
too  healthy  in  mind  and  body  to  play  the  part  of 
misanthrope  for  long,  and  his  project  of  going 
well  out  onto  the  desert,  attractive  as  it  appeared 
at  first,  became  less  so  as  the  time  approached  for 
putting  it  into  execution.  By  degrees  he  came  to 
interest  himself  to  some  extent  in  those  nearest 
him,  and,  as  he  came  to  know  something  about 
them,  learning  their  history  from  the  ranchman 
at  whose  house  he  took  his  meals,  he  perceived  to 
his  surprise  that  they  appeared  content  in  all  the 
privation  in  which  their  lot  was  cast.  How  could 
it  be,  he  asked  himself,  that  there  could  be  even 
the  semblance  of  happiness  among  them,  under 
the  limitations  and  privations  which  were  theirs? 
The  camp  work,  especially  the  heavier  part  of  it, 
such  as  chopping  wood  and  carrying  water,  was  a 
hardship  he  could  see,  to  men  in  their  condition, 
yet  it  was  generally  done  cheerfully.  Although 
advised  by  their  physicians  to  take  at  least  six 
eggs  a  day,  and  more  if  they  were  able  to  digest 

80 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

them,  most  of  them,  he  was  told,  cut  down  the 
number  to  two  or  three  when  the  price  was  high. 
With  eggs  at  fifteen  cents  the  dozen,  they  were  able 
to  digest  a  much  larger  quantity  than  when  the 
price  was  thirty-five  or  forty.  Clearly  his  own 
troubles,  when  contrasted  by  the  real  difficulties 
of  these  people,  seemed  imaginary,  or  far  away. 

This  thing  called  life — what  store  they  set  by  it! 
How  they  valued  it!  What  a  price  they  were 
willing  to  pay  for  it !  These  instances  of  women 
(of  course  young  women,  the  disease  doesn't 
attack  people  after  middle  age  usually)  camping 
alone  on  the  roadsides,  sometimes  far  from  a 
house — when  this  fact  was  first  brought  home  to 
him,  during  his  rides  about  the  country,  he  was 
incredulous,  and  was  not  convinced  until  the  state- 
ment of  his  Indian  boy  was  confirmed  by  the  ranch- 
man. 

"But  aren't  they  ever  molested?"  he  asked. 
11  With  so  large  an  alien  population,  Indians  and 
Mexicans,  and  living  just  in  tents,  what  security 
have  they?  " 

u  I  have  never  heard  of  one  being  molested," 
was  the  response.  "  It's  the  custom  of  the  country 
to  sleep  out  of  doors,  away  from  the  house,  under 
the  stars  for  about  nine  months  in  the  year.  There 
isn't  a  ranch-house  in  the  country  that  is  used 
for  sleeping  in  by  any  of  the  family  in  summer. 

81 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

People  sleep  soundly  here,  and  many  never  lock 
their  doors.  We  couldn't  do  this  if  we  had  a  bad 
population,  do  you  think?  " 

"  No  indeed,"  assented  Branscombe. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  a  little  incident  about  a  cow- 
boy that  occurred  to  me,"  said  his  wife.  "  It  was 
in  the  early  days — as  much  as  fifteen  years  ago. 
In  those  days  the  cowboys  still  enjoyed  the  privi- 
lege of  shooting  up  the  town  occasionally.  We 
were  living  on  the  edge  of  town  then,  and  I  had 
been  out  buying  something  at  a  store.  As  I  was 
crossing  the  main  business  street,  a  cowboy  sailed 
around  the  corner  like  the  wind,  shooting  as  he 
came.  I  was  so  frightened  that  I  fell  into  the 
dust.  The  first  one  to  come  to  my  help  was  this 
cowboy,  and,  although  I  was  not  hurt  and  walked 
to  my  home,  he  rode  alongside  to  satisfy  himself 
that  I  would  get  there  all  right.  When  I  got  to 
the  door,  I  thanked  him,  and  asked  him  his  name. 
When  he  gave  it,  he  took  off  his  hat  with  a  flourish, 
and  then  galloped  away.  That  night  there  was 
a  package  left  at  our  door,  which  I  found  in  the 
morning.  It  was  a  dress  pattern  the  color  of  the 
dress  I  had  worn  the  day  before.  That  dress  had 
been  soiled  by  my  fall,  and  the  other  must  have 
been  left  by  the  cowboy  to  replace  it." 

"  I'm  well  acquainted  with  a  former  warden  of 
the  penitentiary  at  Yuma,"  continued  the  ranch- 

82 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

man.  "  He  says  there  are  very  few  in  there  for 
anything  bad.  You  wouldn't  believe  it,  but  not 
one  in  fifty  is  in  for  anything  like  stealing;  it's 
mostly  just  shooting  scrapes.  The  Arizonian  may 
be  a  little  too  ready  with  his  gun  at  times,  but 
there's  no  harm  in  him." 

How  admirably  the  invalids  about  him  adapted 
themselves  to  the  changed  conditions  under  which 
they  now  had  to  live!  What  could  they  find  to 
laugh  about  ?  he  sometimes  thought.  Why  should 
Fillmore  whistle?  What  did  any  of  them  have 
to  whistle  about?  Their  careers  cut  short,  sick, 
often  scant  of  money,  being  compelled  to  econo- 
mize in  ways  which  retarded  recovery — surely 
here  was  little  enough  to  make  merry  over.  They 
were  now  merely  spectators,  lookers-on  at  the 
game  of  life  instead  of  the  active  participants 
they  formerly  had  been,  and  he  could  not  under- 
stand how  they  could  take  it  so  easily. 

There  were  the  Latimer  brothers,  the  latest 
accessions  to  the  Camp.  The  younger,  Percy,  had 
been  in  the  Territory  a  year,  boarding  at  a  ranch 
where  he  had  been  paying  ten  dollars  a  week.  He 
had  practically  no  means  of  his  own,  and  had  been 
maintained  by  his  brother,  a  few  years  the  senior. 
The  brother  now  had  been  attacked  by  the  same 
disease,  and  had  been  compelled  to  throw  up  his 
position  and  become  a  health-seeker  himself.     He 

83 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

had  been  drawing  a  liberal  salary,  and  this  was  to 
be  continued  a  year,  he  told  the  ranchman,  by 
which  time  he  hoped  to  have  his  health  restored 
sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  do  some  light  work. 
They  were  from  San  Francisco,  and  from  a  good 
family,  as  their  appearance  denoted. 

And  the  Lockwoods.  In  this  instance,  it  was  the 
wife  who  was  the  invalid,  the  husband  with  a  de- 
votion that  Branscombe  could  not  have  conceived 
of  in  himself  having  resigned  his  position  as  mill 
superintendent  with  three  thousand  hands  under 
him — a  position  he  had  been  working  up  to  for 
fifteen  years — in  order  to  accompany  his  wife  to 
the  desert  country.  Here  he  ministered  to  her 
with  a  faithfulness  that  was  the  subject  of  remark 
throughout  the  Camp,  content  if  he  could  but  ease 
the  situation  for  her. 

Then  there  was  Alford,  whose  chances  for  re- 
covery were  very  slim.  It  was  plain  to  even  a 
casual  observer,  that  he  was  failing.  He  had  to 
walk  with  a  cane  now,  and  his  coughing  spells 
were  growing  more  frequent,  yet  he,  even,  seemed 
cheerful  between  the  paroxysms.  In  the  silence 
of  the  night  a  groan  might  escape  him  after  one 
of  the  coughing  spells — Branscombe  often  read 
until  midnight,  especially  after  an  all-day's  ride, 
and  Alford's  tent  was  near  his — but  when  any  one 
was  by  he  always  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter, 

84 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

even  joking  over  the  fact,  Branscombe  had  over- 
heard it,  that  his  high  temperature  enabled  him 
to  get  along  with  but  one  pair  of  blankets.  "  And 
that's  where  I  have  the  bulge  on  you  fellows,"  he 
had  said. 

And  Wells  and  Farrell,  sometimes  alluded  to 
as  the  "  Wells-Fargo  outfit."  True,  they  were 
not  in  financial  straits  as  were  most  of  the  others. 
There  was  a  Japanese  cook  in  charge  of  the  Wells- 
Farrell  menage,  and  there  was  probably  money 
enough  to  enable  them  to  live  in  comfort  until 
recovery  or  death.  Wells,  so  the  ranchman  told 
him,  had  been  a  mining  engineer,  "  holding  down  " 
a  fine  position  in  one  of  the  big  copper-mines  in 
Arizona.  He  and  Farrell  had  been  classmates  in 
college  and  chums  from  the  start.  A  Damon  and 
Pythias  friendship  had  developed  between  them, 
and  when  Farrell  was  stricken  with  the  disease 
back  East,  it  seemed  obviously  the  wisest  course 
for  him  to  pursue  to  come  to  Arizona,  and  join  his 
friend,  also  in  delicate  health,  who  had  gone  there 
on  this  account. 

The  Williams  too,  who  had  shown  a  friendly 
side  to  him,  now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it.  They 
had  been  married  eight  years,  and  had  a  child,  a 
little  girl  of  five,  who  had  been  left  behind  with 
its  grandparents.  During  health,  Mr.  Williams's 
salary  had  but  just  sufficed  for  their  needs,  and 

85 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

now  it  had  stopped.  Fortunately  he  had  a  sick 
benefit  fund  from  a  fraternal  organization,  and 
this  was  supplemented  by  some  money  which  had 
come  to  Mrs.  Williams  from  a  grandparent. 
They  had  sufficient  means  for  the  present,  and 
when  Mr.  Williams's  health  should  be  sufficiently 
restored,  they  intended  buying  a  small  place  near 
Pasadena  where  they  might  raise  poultry  and 
small  fruits;  but  it  was  plain  that  their  present 
outlook  was  something  wholly  different  than  what 
it  had  formerly  been. 

And  how  they  all  tried  to  celebrate  the  Christ- 
mas holidays !  What  faith  in  their  own  resources 
it  betokened!  Sitting  in  his  tent  on  Christmas 
eve,  cutting  the  pages  of  a  magazine,  he  heard 
the  tinkle  of  a  guitar  proceeding  from  one  of  the 
larger  tents,  and  rightly  concluded  that  those  who 
were  well  enough,  were  gathered  there,  making 
an  effort,  at  least  a  bid,  for  some  of  the  cheer  that 
went  with  the  good  old  holiday. 

The  intermittent  tinkling  of  the  guitar  set  him 
to  musing,  causing  him  to  drop  his  magazine. 

The  persistency  of  the  Christmas  spirit !  How 
it  seemed  to  permeate  each  and  all  as  the  season 
came  round  again.  He  recalled  the  Christmas 
holidays  of  his  youth  and  early  manhood — how 
he  always  came  home  from  boarding-school  or  col- 
lege to  celebrate  them  with  his  mother,  how  he 

86 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

disturbed  the  serenity  and  quiet  of  the  house  with 
his  autocratic  ways,  how  every  one  deferred  to 
him,  making  him  the  autocrat  he  came  to  be. 
What  times  those  were,  when  every  one  was  well 
disposed  toward  him,  and  no  upbraiding  mentor 
at  his  elbow. 

"  How  was  it,"  he  asked  himself,  "  that  the 
pathos  of  such  a  situation  as  that  going  on  in  the 
Williams'  tent,  in  their  pitiful  attempts  at  making 
merry,  did  not  more  appeal  to  him?  "  His  brain 
apprehended  it  well  enough,  but  it  seemed  at  times 
as  if  his  sensibilities  had  become  atrophied,  that 
he  was  become  incapable  of  pity  or  sympathy.  In 
earlier  years  he  would  have  felt  these  things 
acutely,  and  that  he  should  be  so  insensible  to 
them  now,  struck  him  suddenly  as  of  a  curious 
lack  in  his  mental  equipment.  He  had  grown 
coarser  with  the  years.  As  a  boy,  when  he 
saw  anything  painful  it  was  with  an  instantane- 
ous response  of  sympathy.  There  was  a  lame  girl 
who  walked  with  a  crutch,  who  used  to  come  into 
his  father's  office  occasionally,  whom  he  never  saw 
in  those  years  without  a  lump  coming  in  his  throat. 
He  had  let  these  finer  feelings  die  down  in  him  in 
the  life  of  selfish  gratification  he  had  been  leading. 

44  Might  not  this  explain,"  he  asked  himself, 
44  his  lessened  capacity  for  enjoyment  ?  "  Not  alone 
enjoyment,  might  it  not  lie  at  the  bottom  of  his 

87 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

entire  failure  in  life — his  failure  to  achieve  any- 
thing in  his  chosen  profession  of  art,  as  well  as 
in  every  other  relation  ? 

"  All  art,"  said  the  Master  once,  who,  on  invi- 
tation of  a  score  of  American  art  students,  among 
whom  Branscombe  was  numbered,  had  consented 
to  come  to  their  studio  once  a  week  to  criticise 
their  work — "  all  art  is  largely  a  question  of — 
shall  I  say,  perceptibilite — sensibilite?  And  this 
is  as  essential  in  appreciating  it  as  in  creating  it. 
Art,  ever  beckoning  us  on,  has  evidently  been 
given  us  to  enable  us  to  develop  the  higher  part 
of  our  nature.  To  create,  you  have  to  be  more 
alive  than  the  average  man.  Your  American  poet 
with  the  odd  name,  Longman — ah  yes!  Long- 
fellow— voiced  this  idea  beautifully  in  that  little 
classic  which  he  called  the  Psalm  of  Life." 

And  with  it  all  he  felt  himself  to  be  as  cold  and 
hard  as  an  icicle.  There  was  a  Christmas  story 
by  a  New  England  authoress  he  had  been  reading 
in  his  magazine  that  Christmas  eve,  all  about 
simple  village  folk  who  had  discovered  another 
in  a  most  unfortunate  position.  The  gist  of  the 
story  was  to  the  effect  that,  in  the  humanizing 
touch  of  their  sympathy,  in  their  ready  response 
to  the  mute  appeal  of  a  tortured  soul,  they  had 
found  their  own  blessedness,  forgetting  their 
troubles  and  disappointments  therein. 

88 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Guitar  and  voices  were  finally  resolved  into  a 
wobbly,  unsteady  rendering  of  the  good  old  Ger- 
man Christmas  hymn, 

Silent  Night, 
Hallowed  Night. 

His  thoughts  reverted  to  a  Christmas  spent  in 
the  Black  Forest  the  first  year  he  went  abroad, 
and  his  pulses  leaped  as  he  recalled  the  a  capella 
rendering  of  the  fine  old  hymn  at  the  midnight 
service  in  the  church. 

Stille  Nacht, 
Heil'ge  Nacht. 

The  swing  and  the  rhythmic  motion  they  had 
given  to  the  next  but  last  line — 

Wo  der  Erloser  erschien! 

The  influence  of  the  silent  holy  night  was  steal- 
ing in  on  him,  taking  him  at  unawares. 

Wo  der  Erloser  erschien! 

It  was  a  dry  land  somewhat  like  Arizona,  a 
pastoral  land — he  had  visited  it  on  one  of  the 
Mediterranean  tours — the  stars  shining  brightly 
as  here. 

89 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

How  the  atmosphere  seemed  surcharged  with 
the  kindly  Christmas  spirit  one  toward  the  other 
among  that  simple  Black  Forest  village  folk !  He 
recalled  walking  back,  in  the  moonlight,  through 
the  crisp  snow,  with  the  family  of  the  good 
burgher  with  whom  he  was  stopping;  the  Mutter- 
chen  and  the  others  ahead,  Annchen — those  sweet 
German  diminutives!  the  tenderness  they  convey! 
tall,  pretty,  fair-haired,  roguish  Annchen  at  his 
side,  and  his  eyes  glistened  as  he  remembered  how 
she  had  kissed  him  in  the  doorway,  taking  him  at 
unawares  with  her  Weihnachtskuss,  and  then  had 
scampered  away  with  a  merry  laugh,  leaving  him 
to  gaze  stupidly  after  for  a  moment,  until  his 
brain  took  in  the  situation,  upon  which  he  had 
overtaken  her,  repaying  the  kiss  with  interest. 

And  the  Christmas  tree,  that  had  been  prepared 
during  the  afternoon  by  Annchen  and  the  maid 
with  great  secrecy  behind  locked  doors,  and  which 
was  lit  up  by  the  Vaterchen  himself,  who  remained 
home  from  the  service  for  the  purpose  so  that  the 
distribution  might  take  place  as  soon  as  they  en- 
tered the  house.  Was  there  ever  such  another 
Christmas  tree,  with  its  myriad  candles,  its  gilded 
walnuts,  its  red  apples  and  candy  animals!  And 
the  delight  of  the  children  over  the  little  gifts  they 
had  received — would  he  ever  forget  it !  or  his  own 
either,  which  was  scarcely  less  though  less  noisily 

90 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

expressed,  on  receiving  the  wonderful  stein  from 
Annchen's  fairy  hands. 

There  was  a  Schnitzler  Schule  there,  with  a 
Herr  Professor  in  charge,  who  was  already  be- 
coming known,  and  who  had  since  become  famous, 
but  had  stayed  on,  preferring  the  quiet  life  of 
work  and  meditation  to  anything  that  the  outside 
world  had  to  offer.  He  remembered  being  told 
by  him  how  his  mother  had  importuned  him  to 
leave  there  and  go  to  Dresden,  where  was  a  wider 
field,  and  where  he  could  take  a  more  prominent 
place  in  the  world — and  how,  in  reply,  he  had 
quoted  from  Goethe  in  support  of  his  position, 
Es  bildet  sich  ein  talent  in  die  stille. 

The  Herr  Professor  had  seemed  to  take  a  fancy 
to  him,  and  had  invited  him  to  remain  for  a  year 
and  pursue  his  studies  under  his  direction,  offering 
to  give  him  every  facility.  The  friendship  of 
such  a  man, — what  might  it  not  have  been  worth  in 
the  development  of  his  character  and  in  the  bring- 
ing out  and  cultivation  of  his  talent!  For  there 
must  have  been  talent,  he  reflected,  to  lead  such 
a  man  like  the  Herr  Professor  to  encourage  him 
to  take  up  the  subject  under  his  own  supervision. 
Men  of  genius  always  like  to  aid  in  the  develop- 
ment of  talent  in  others,  often  giving  their  services 
gratuitously  to  further  the  cause,  but  they  make 
short  work  of  the  dullards,  as  was  evidenced  by 

9i 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

a  little  incident  which  had  occurred  in  his  class 
where  the  Master  had  advised  a  forward  and 
overconfident  student  to  go  back  to  "  America  " 
and  open  a  grocery  store,  telling  him  that  art  was 
not  for  him. 

How  delightfully  the  world  had  opened  out 
toward  him  in  those  days,  where  all  showed  him 
a  friendly  side,  where  as  yet  there  was  no  mentor 
at  his  elbow  continually  charging  him  with  his 
derelictions,  where  as  yet  there  were  no  derelic- 
tions to  speak  of. 

And  Annchen;  tall,  fair-haired,  roguish  Ann- 
chen — the  charm  that  invests  the  pure  woman  like 
an  aureole,  that  pervades  her  like  the  subtle 
fragrance  of  a  rose — is  there  anything  in  God's 
universe,  he  thought,  equal  to  this  ?  It  had  seemed 
to  him  at  times  as  if  she  too  had  shown  some 
preference  for  him  in  spite  of  her  roguishness  and 
tantalizing  manner.  And  to  turn  away  from  an 
idyllic  life  like  this  when  he  might  have  remained 
and  studied  his  art  with  Annchen  ever  at  his  side — 
to  turn  his  back  on  it  when  he  might  have  remained 
and  become  part  of  it — to  leave  this  idyllic  life 
and  go  back  to  the  Latin  Quarter  and  become  en- 
tangled in  its  drinking-bouts,  its  sham  c'uels,  its 
grisettes  and  all  the  rest  of  it ! 

The  tinkle  of  the  guitar  continued,  interrupted 
at  times  by  the  low  murmur  of  voices.    Later,  one 

92 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  the  boys  sang  a  funny  song.  Then  he  sang  a 
verse  from  a  sentimental  song,  rendered  with  a 
Hibernian  accent. 

On  the  Day  itself,  the  Camp  had  a  dinner  in 
common  to  which  indeed  he  had  been  asked  by 
Mrs.  Williams,  who  had  taken  the  lead  in  the 
matter.  When  he  declined,  on  the  plea  that  he 
intended  being  absent  from  Camp  all  the  day,  she 
had  smilingly  told  him  that  she  would  lay  a  plate 
for  him  anyway,  and  hoped  he  might  get  back  in 
time  to  participate.  Had  he  known  of  the  ache 
in  her  heart— of  the  mother-love — of  the  heart- 
hunger  for  the  child  left  behind,  he  might  have 
marveled  again  at  the  power  of  repression  here 
exhibited.  He  returned  an  hour  or  so  before  sun- 
down and  saw  the  long  improvised  table  on  saw- 
horses  placed  outside  the  large  tent,  decorated 
with  sprays  of  greasewood  and  a  few  belated  wild 
flowers,  and  was  tendered  a  glass  of  wine  in  pass- 
ing. And  though  some  of  the  little  party  were 
destined  never  to  see  the  holiday  come  round 
again,  no  considerations  of  the  kind  seemed  to 
have  interfered  with  their  enjoyment  of  the  day. 
To  most  of  them  it  was  their  first  Christmas  under 
the  new  conditions  of  illness  and  privation,  and 
that  they  could  put  so  good  a  face  on  the  matter 
was  a  marvel  indeed. 

He  commended  the  bravery  of  it  though. 
93 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

These  men  were  an  object-lesson  to  him  and  a 
reproach.  He  might  learn  from  them.  With 
everything  in  his  favor  he  had  made  a  mess 
of  his  life,  while  they,  with  everything  against 
them,  managed  still  to  extract  some  enjoyment 
out  of  it. 

Although  in  these  speculations  he  was  as  yet 
mainly  analytical,  the  humanitarian  side  of  the 
question  began  gradually  to  appeal  to  him.  In 
the  old  life  he  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  think- 
ing much  about  others — their  troubles  and  sor- 
rows had  concerned  him  but  little.  True  to  the 
old  traditions  he  had  thought  only  of  himself. 
To  win  out  in  the  game  of  life  you  had  to  look 
out  for  yourself:  the  stragglers  were  nothing  to 
you.  No  doubt  they  deserved  their  fate  when  they 
were  unable  to  keep  up  with  the  procession.  A 
nice  time  you  would  have  of  it  if  you  hampered 
yourself  with  every  one  who  needed  your  help. 
This  had  been  the  gist  of  his  philosophy,  and  of 
those  by  whom  his  life  had  been  governed.  Now, 
however,  that  he  was  passing  through  the  fire  him- 
self, he  gradually  became  aware  of  the  kinship  of 
suffering,  recognizing  it  instinctively  in  others,  and 
finding  later,  strangely  enough,  that  when  he 
shared  another's  burden,  his  own  was  lightened 
thereby. 

One  day,  while  going  for  water,  his  Indian  boy 
94 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

being  gone  for  the  day,  he  overtook  the  Deacon, 
who  was  bent  on  the  same  errand,  but  was  resting 
under  a  mesquite  tree.  Silently,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed rather  shamefacedly,  feeling  very  much 
like  a  good  boy  out  of  a  Sunday-school  book,  he 
took  up  the  empty  bucket  and  brought  it,  filled, 
to  the  young  man's  tent.  From  that  time  the  Dea- 
con carried  no  more  water.  The  two  empty 
buckets  that  each  night  stood  on  the  bench  outside 
his  tent  were  always,  as  by  a  miracle,  full  when  he 
rose  in  the  morning.  Being  a  person  of  discern- 
ment he  said  nothing  about  this  to  Branscombe, 
or  to  any  of  the  others  in  the  Camp.  It  relieved 
him  of  a  great  difficulty,  however,  as  he  had  been 
specially  enjoined  by  his  physician  against  lifting 
or  carrying,  the  possibility  of  a  hemorrhage  being 
pointed  out  to  him  should  he  do  this. 

To  Branscombe  the  two  holidays  just  passed — 
Thanksgiving  and  Christmas — had  been  judgment 
days  in  which  conscience  and  the  remnant  of  virtue 
still  existing  within  him  had  questioned  and  lashed 
him  anew.  The  inward  drama  would  have  to 
continue — the  mentor  at  his  elbow  remain,  await- 
ing a  definite  outcome.  And  the  denouement, 
when  the  drama  came  to  its  end? 

For  he  looked  forward  to  an  end  to  the  inward 
conflict.  Surely  this  state  of  things  could  not  al- 
ways go  on  thus.    A  time  must  come,  provided  he 

95 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

did  his  part,  when  at  least  there  would  be  peace, 
when  if  not  happiness,  there  might  be  content- 
ment. 

Soon  after  Branscombe's  acquaintance  with  the 
Deacon  began,  he  proposed  to  the  latter  that  he 
move  his  tent  nearer,  and  that  they  mess  together. 
The  advantages  of  having  a  companion  in  camp 
life  were  so  obvious  to  a  man  of  the  Deacon's 
condition  and  temperament  that  he  grasped  at  the 
opportunity,  although  it  was  done  in  opposition  to 
the  advice  of  the  others  in  the  Camp. 

It  did  not  take  Branscombe  long  to  discover  his 
partner's  worth  and  to  respond  to  it.  He  came  to 
enjoy  his  camping  experiences  with  the  Deacon. 
They  did  their  own  work  for  the  most  part,  the 
cooking  in  especial.  In  these  matters  the  Deacon 
was  the  instructor,  his  partner  being  a  willing,  if 
at  first  not  very  capable,  neophyte.  Nothing  that 
he  had  ever  eaten  at  Sherry's  tasted  half  so  good, 
it  seemed  to  Branscombe,  as  the  cup  of  coffee  made 
by  his  own  hands,  after  his  cold  bath  in  the  morn- 
ing. Whenever  he  made  a  dish  that  turned  out 
well — the  coffee  is  an  instance  and  there  were  sev- 
eral other  things  in  which  he  soon  became  adept 
— it  seemed  a  kind  of  triumph  to  him,  this  man 
who  had  so  long  lived  an  idle,  useless  life. 

The  vigorous  health  that  reasserted  itself  in 
the  new  life  needed  an  outlet  which  horseback 

96 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

riding  was  not  sufficient  to  supply,  and  he  supple- 
mented it  by  wood-chopping,  and  other  homely 
but  necessary  camp  work.  He  was  apt  in  learn- 
ing, and  soon  took  over  most  of  the  cooking,  so 
that  very  little  remained  for  the  Deacon  to  do. 

He  enjoyed  the  gradually  growing  friendship 
with  his  partner  which  the  exigencies  of  camp 
life  brought  about.  The  Deacon's  character,  he 
told  himself,  was  pure  gold.  Branscombe's  inti- 
mates heretofore  had  not  been  of  this  sort;  had 
been  indeed  of  a  much  baser  metal;  more  like 
brass  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it,  and  he 
appreciated  him  all  the  more  for  the  comparison. 

He  sometimes  amused  himself  with  speculating 
as  to  what  his  former  friends  would  say,  could 
they  see  him  at  his  present  occupation.  How 
would  Bainbridge  and  Winslow  regard  him,  could 
they  see  him  chopping  the  tough  mesquite  wood? 
He  recalled  how  they  had  talked  during  the  pre- 
vious summer  about  their  contemplated  trip  to 
Canada  when  winter  came,  for  moose.  They 
called  it  camping,  although  each  probably  took 
his  man  along,  and  they  would  have  guides  also. 
He  knew  they  would  talk  when  they  got  back,  as 
long  as  any  one  would  listen,  of  their  camping 
experiences;  as  if  camping  amounted  to  anything 
unless  you  fried  the  bacon  and  eggs  yourself  and 
made  the  coffee.    Mile.  Fifine — Miss  Pinkie — but 

97 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

why  go  into  these  details?  perhaps  the  less  said 
about  them  the  better. 

The  alternations  of  work  and  sleep — the  satis- 
faction of  it  all!  He  welcomed  the  prospect  of 
doing  things  as  soon  as  he  arose  in  the  morning, 
and  when  the  day  was  over,  the  work  had  tired 
him  enough  to  make  him  enjoy  the  prospect  of 
sleep.  He  felt  that  he  could  never  sufficiently  ap- 
preciate the  beneficent  effects  of  each  on  mind  and 
body.  The  desert  can  heal  lesions  other  than 
those  of  the  lungs. 

It  was  a  fine  intuition,  he  thought,  that  had 
brought  him  to  the  Southwest,  where  seemed  to 
be  the  atmosphere  and  environment  suited  to  his 
needs.  He  soon  perceived,  that  when  once  he  had 
adapted  himself  to  its  conditions  and  had  assim- 
ilated them,  when  once  the  lesson  came  to  be 
mastered — that  lesson  which  had  been  so  long  in 
learning — the  new  life  of  the  Southwest  would  be 
satisfying  in  a  sense  and  to  a  degree  that  he  had 
never  experienced  before. 


98 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  little  colony  had  its  tragedies,  its  heart 
sorrows — its  measure  of  agony  and  re- 
morse, as  well  as  its  fluctuations  of  hope  and  joy; 
it  had  its  instances  of  blind  wilfulness  and  selfish 
egotism,  as  well  as  of  heroic  self-abnegation.  The 
limitations  and  shortcomings  of  this  human  nature 
of  ours  were  as  much  in  evidence  here  as  out  in 
the  wide  world. 

In  the  Latimer  tents  there  were  occasional  dif- 
ferences,— perhaps  the  brothers  had  grown  apart 
in  the  year  in  which  they  had  been  separated, — 
or  it  may  be  that  their  illness,  making  them  self- 
centered,  had.  paved  the  way  for  divergences  of 
opinion.  Most  likely,  it  was  the  dry,  electrical 
atmosphere  which,  making  them  nervous,  had  the 
effect  of  rendering  Percival  irritable  and  Carlyle 
less  forbearing.  There  was  nothing  violent, — not 
what  could  be  called  quarreling, — but  the  differ- 
ences were  pronounced  enough  to  keep  the  brothers 
apart  at  times. 

A  frequent  cause  of  dissension  arose  from  the 
fact  that  Carlyle,  the  elder  of  the  two,  having 

99 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

studied  up  the  disease  and  the  rationale  of  the 
treatment,  desired  the  other  to  conform  to  his 
conception  of  the  case.  The  younger  had  his  own 
opinions  on  this,  as  on  most  subjects,  and  was  gen- 
erally ready  to  argue  out  any  topic  on  the  slightest 
provocation,  from  a  question  in  football  to  a  rise 
of  a  degree  or  two  in  his  temperature.  From 
heated  argument,  it  was  often  but  a  short  step  to 
recrimination,  Carlyle  always  blaming  himself  bit- 
terly afterward,  and  always  resolving  to  be  more 
circumspect  and  patient  in  the  future. 

After  all,  Percival  was  only  a  boy  yet,  and  had 
always  been  indulged,  reflected  this  sage  of  twenty- 
six.  And  too,  was  not  he  partly  responsible  for 
this  argumentative  disposition  which  the  other  ex- 
hibited? For  had  he  not  encouraged  it  already 
in  the  lad's  childhood?  It  had  seemed  so  preco- 
cious to  hear  the  boy  take  the  opposite  side  against 
his  father,  that  he  had  often  in  those  times  started 
the  conversational  ball  a-rolling  with  no  other 
object  than  to  involve  the  two  in  one  of  these 
word  contests. 

Perhaps  the  father  enjoyed  it  too.  The  boys 
never  remembered  their  mother,  and  the  father 
never  mentioned  her.  He  was  almost  a  recluse, 
caring  only  for  his  books  and  his  boys,  as  he  used 
to  tell  them.  He  had  been  something  of  an  invalid 
for  years  before  his  death,  and  remained  at  home 
ioo 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

most  of  the  time.  As  he  wanted  to  have  them 
near  him  as  much  as  possible,  he  taught  them  until 
they  were  well-grown  lads  and  his  influence  over 
them  remained  paramount. 

Carlyle  never  was  the  same  after  his  father's 
death,  which  had  occurred  some  years  before. 
Father  and  sons  lived  after  a  happy-go-lucky  fash- 
ion on  a  small  annuity  which  the  father  had  re- 
ceived from  his  father's  estate.  Carlyle's  paternal 
grandfather  had  been  a  Forty-niner,  who  had 
achieved  quite  a  fortune  and  had  then  settled  down 
in  San  Francisco.  There  were  but  two  children, 
both  boys,  Carlyle's  father  being  the  younger.  He 
must  have  displeased  his  father  in  some  way,  as 
the  bulk  of  the  fortune  went  to  the  elder  son,  only 
the  small  annuity  going  to  the  younger. 

The  Latimer  menage  would  have  been  open  to 
criticism  from  the  standpoint  of  a  good  house- 
keeper. There  was  one  maid  who  had  been  there 
from  time  immemorial  so  far  as  the  boys  were  con- 
cerned, who  had  her  own  way  about  everything, 
whose  fiat  on  any  matter  was  never  even  ques- 
tioned. The  carpets  were  shabby  and  sometimes 
threadbare;  the  windows  were  not  washed  as  often 
as  good  housekeeping  warranted;  the  table  linen, 
originally  of  fine  quality,  now  worn  thin,  was  at 
times  joined  together  in  the  middle ;  but  there  was 
a  wealth  of  affection  from  father  to  sons,  unex- 

IOI 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

pressed,  inexpressible,  which  made  up  for  all  other 
deficiencies.  This  the  boys  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course,  never  rightly  prizing  it  until  it  had  been 
taken  from  them,  as  is  often  the  case  with  our  best 
possessions. 

When  Carlyle  was  twenty,  a  position  was  ob- 
tained for  him  in  the  office  of  one  of  the  trans- 
continental railway  lines,  and  where  he  had  re- 
mained ever  since.  On  the  death  of  his  father, 
which  had  occurred  when  he  was  twenty-three  and 
Percival  eighteen,  a  position  was  secured  for  the 
latter  in  a  bank,  and  Carlyle  endeavored  to  take 
the  father's  place  toward  his  younger  brother. 

That  young  gentleman,  on  attaining  the  bank 
position  and  the  munificent  salary  of  forty  dollars 
per  month  which  went  with  it,  soon  developed 
social  aspirations  as  became  a  Native  Son  of  the 
Golden  West  with  so  distinguished  a  grandfather 
back  of  him  (not  to  mention  the  Archbishop), 
and  Carlyle  soon  found  that  his  self-constituted 
relation  toward  Percival — a  relation  very  much 
like  that  of  the  hen  that  has  hatched  out  ducklings 
— was  no  sinecure.  While  not  extravagant,  Per- 
cival soon  developed  a  fondness  for  dress-suits  in 
the  evening,  enjoyed  dancing  extremely,  always 
managing  to  have  the  prettiest  girls  as  partners, 
taking  these  same  pretty  girls  to  the  theatre  and 
out  driving  as  occasion  offered,  and  in  general, 
102 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

disporting  himself  as  the  grandson  of  a  successful 
Forty-niner,  with  first-rate  social  connections  might 
be  expected  to  do  in  a  city  such  as  San  Francisco 
was  in  its  old-time  splendor. 

Thus  Percy,  for  about  a  year  and  a  half.  Then 
his  mode  of  life  began  to  tell  on  him.  The 
close  confinement  in  the  bank,  the  frequent  dances 
with  the  attendant  want  of  sleep — these  together 
with  an  inherited  tendency  toward  tuberculosis 
(the  father  had  died  of  the  disease)  were  doing 
their  work.  The  sequel  came  one  day  without  any 
warning,  in  the  shape  of  a  hemorrhage,  while  on 
his  way  to  the  bank.  It  occurred  on  a  crowded 
thoroughfare,  and  he  was  immediately  taken  into 
a  drug  store  where  restoratives  were  applied,  after 
which  he  was  sent  to  a  hospital  and  Carlyle  noti- 
fied. 

Percy's  faults  were  all  on  the  surface.  The 
father  was  a  man  of  fine  character,  and  the  rela- 
tion between  him  and  his  sons  was  too  intimate 
and  long  continued  for  either  of  the  boys  to  go 
very  far  wrong.  But  out  of  a  salary  of  five  hun- 
dred you  cannot  spend  a  thousand  a  year  and 
have  an  easy  time  of  it.  This  was  the  problem 
that  young  Latimer  was  trying  to  solve,  and  it 
proved  to  be  too  complicated  a  one  for  his  arith- 
metic. After  he  got  to  work  and  as  a  direct  result 
of  it,  the  boys  had  to  part  with  their  home.  The 
103 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

house  had  already  been  mortgaged  in  their 
father's  lifetime,  but  real  estate  was  increasing  in 
value  and  the  father  always  felt  that  the  equity 
in  the  home  would  be  a  nice  little  nest-egg  for 
them  until  they  could  get  on  their  feet. 

But  Percival's  debts  were  piling  up,  and  when 
his  illness  came  on — his  attack  had  been  noticed 
in  all  the  papers — the  creditors  became  pressing. 
Carlyle  guarded  the  honor  of  the  family  jealously, 
a  sentiment  which  had  been  carefully  instilled  into 
him  by  his  father,  who  often  told  him  that  he  had 
no  fear  that  it  would  be  knowingly  jeopardized 
by  either  of  them.  These  debts  must  be  paid  at 
once,  before  Percy's  superiors  at  the  bank  should 
learn  of  them  and  institute  inquiry.  Percy's  hon- 
esty must  not  be  questioned.  The  only  way  out 
of  the  difficulty  that  he  could  see  was  to  put  a 
second  mortgage  on  the  house,  rent  it,  the  income 
of  which  would  be  required  to  pay  interest  charges 
and  taxes,  sell  or  store  the  books  and  furniture  and 
go  boarding. 

The  proceeds  from  the  mortgage  paid  these 
debts,  and  left  a  few  hundreds  over  for  emergen- 
cies, but  the  boys  were  adrift.  It  did  not  matter 
so  much  for  the  younger,  this  giving  up  the  old 
home,  since,  as  soon  as  he  would  be  able  to  travel, 
he  was  to  leave  for  Arizona;  but  to  Carlyle  it  was 
like  parting  soul  and  body — giving  up  this  home, 
104 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

every  nook  and  corner  of  which  was  endeared  to 
him  by  associations  with  his  father.  Unlike  Per- 
cival,  he  was  always  best  satisfied  at  home,  spend- 
ing most  of  his  evenings  in  the  musty  old  library, 
a  course,  however,  which  was  as  conducive  to  the 
development  of  the  disease  as  was  Percival's. 

When  Carlyle  found  that  he  also  was  attacked 
by  it,  the  discovery  having  been  made  some  months 
subsequent  to  Percival's  departure  for  Arizona,  he 
met  the  situation  in  a  business-like  manner.  There 
must  be  no  half-way  measures  in  this,  he  reflected. 
He  had  Percy  to  look  after  now,  as  well  as  him- 
self, and  if  his  health  went,  what  would  Percy  do? 
He  could  take  no  chances.  He  must  get  well  at 
all  hazards  on  the  lad's  account. 

He  stated  his  case  frankly  to  his  chief  at  the 
outset  of  the  disease,  who,  interested  in  his  recov- 
ery, having  slated  him  for  advancement,  gave  him 
a  three  months'  leave  of  absence  with  salary, 
assuring  him  in  addition  that,  when  he  returned, 
he  would  make  his  work  lighter  for  another  six 
months.  He  also  sought  good  medical  advice, 
fortifying  this  by  procuring  the  best  books  on  the 
subject  of  his  disease,  mastering  their  contents, 
not,  however,  until  he  had  procured  a  medical 
dictionary.  When  he  learned  that  tuberculosis  is 
largely  a  disease  of  malnutrition,  and  that  super- 
alimentation is  one  of  the  forces  by  which  it  can 
105 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

be  successfully  combated,  he  took  up  the  study  of 
dietetics.  He  also  moved  to  Berkeley,  slept  out  of 
doors,  and  made  a  point  of  being  out  in  the  air 
as  much  as  possible. 

His  first  impulse  had  been  to  go  to  Arizona 
where  his  brother  was,  but  this  the  physician  com- 
bated, telling  him  that  it  was  not  worth  while 
taking  the  long  railway  journey  for  so  short  a  stay 
— that  by  living  rightly,  he  would  do  better  to 
remain  where  he  was. 

In  a  few  months  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
being  told  that  the  disease  was  arrested,  but  he 
continued  his  mode  of  life  as  if  the  case  were  still 
doubtful. 

The  result  of  his  medical  studies  had  been  faith- 
fully transmitted  to  Percy  in  weekly  letters,  to 
which  the  other  responded  regularly.  When  sum- 
mer came,  and  it  was  necessary  to  leave  Arizona, 
Carlyle  procured  a  pass  for  him,  enabling  him  to 
spend  the  heated  term  in  the  foothills  of  the  Kings 
River  country  in  California,  where  he  joined  him 
on  a  month's  vacation. 

A  plan  for  spending  the  coming  winter  in  Ari- 
zona with  Percy,  which  Carlyle  had  been  consider- 
ing, was  decided  on,  on  this  trip.  Percy  had  not 
made  the  progress  toward  recovery  which  Carlyle 
had  expected.  He  needed  looking  after  he  re- 
flected. The  world  had  not  been  very  bright  for 
106 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Carlyle  since  his  father's  death.  He  must  not 
lose  Percy  too;  there'd  be  nothing  then  worth 
living  for.  They  needed  each  other,  and  would 
be  supplementary  one  to  the  other.  He  must  look 
after  his  own  health  so  as  to  be  able  to  look  after 
Percy.  A  winter  in  Arizona  together  would  prob- 
ably improve  the  health  of  each,  so  that  they  might 
live  in  Southern  California  thereafter.  In  another 
year,  his  attorney  assured  him,  their  house  would 
sell  for  a  few  thousands  above  the  encumbrances, 
and  then  they  would  buy  a  ranch  on  which  both 
might  live  in  comfort. 

Carlyle's  solicitude  about  his  brother's  health — 
though  appreciated  by  the  younger — became  at 
times  irksome  to  him,  especially  when  it  involved 
any  curtailment  of  his  freedom  of  action.  Per- 
cival's  temperature  and  pulse-rate  were  taken  twice 
daily  by  the  elder  brother,  and  when  any  varia- 
tion from  the  normal  appeared,  the  younger  knew 
what  to  expect.  If  it  were  no  more  than  three- 
fifths  of  a  degree  above,  he  might  sit  about  but 
not  take  any  exercise.  If  a  full  degree,  he  was  so 
earnestly  importuned  to  go  to  bed  for  a  few  hours 
that  the  young  fellow,  impatient  of  restraint, 
sometimes  answered  back  sharply  instead  of  com- 
plying. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  the  Almighty  put  brains 
into  my  head  for  unless  to  be  used?  Don't  you 
107 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

think  I  know  something  too?  I  know  how  I  feel 
better  than  you  do." 

Always  after  one  of  their  little  rencontres — 
which  occurred  periodically — each,  taking  on  him- 
self the  fault,  would  endeavor  to  make  expiation 
by  doing  something  which  he  knew  the  other 
would  like,  Percy  being  usually  the  more  demon- 
strative of  the  two.  Often  his  contrition  led  him, 
unthinkingly,  to  take  on  more  of  the  camp  work 
than  had  been  portioned  out  to  him,  and  Carlyle, 
though  aware  that  this  would  have  the  effect  of 
raising  his  temperature,  would  at  such  times  not 
have  the  heart  to  disapprove,  not  wishing  to  hurt 
him  or  have  it  appear  that  any  displeasure  re- 
mained. 

Being  handy  with  tools  he  would  put  up  a  shelf, 
or  add  some  other  convenience  to  the  menage  so 
as  to  make  the  work  easier  for  Carlyle,  who  did 
most  of  it.  Or  he  would  make  a  store  of  kindlings, 
enough  to  last  a  week,  cutting  the  sagebrush  for 
the  purpose,  which  cost  nothing  and  burned  read- 
ily. Carlyle  had  indeed  demurred  to  this  once, 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  full  of  dust,  which  was 
disseminated  and  breathed  when  cutting  it  with 
a  hatchet,  but  Percival  met  this  objection  the 
next  time  by  cutting  the  stalks  off  close  to  the 
ground  with  a  saw. 

But  his  compunction  usually  took  the  form  of 
io3 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

extra  precautions  as  regarded  his  health,  since  this 
was  a  matter  in  which  Carlyle  was  most  deeply 
concerned.  Lying  down  for  a  few  hours  in  the 
afternoon  was  a  form  of  punishment  which  the 
young  penitent  often  voluntarily  underwent.  This 
really  was  a  penance  for  him;  how  much  of  one, 
Carlyle  himself  could  not  measure.  The  after- 
noon was  the  time  when  girls  sometimes  came  to 
the  Camp,  visiting  one  or  the  other  there,  and  he 
had  been  in  the  vicinity  long  enough  to  have  made 
many  acquaintances  among  them.  And  there  were 
some  very  pretty  girls  in  town  too;  not  the  equal 
of  those  in  San  Francisco — that  could  hardly  be 
expected;  nothing  any  more  was  like  what  it  had 
been  in  those  halcyon  days  of  health,  not  even  the 
girls, — but  all  in  all  there  were  some  very  attrac- 
tive ones  as  things  went  now,  and  they  made  the 
one  bright  feature  in  his  life. 

Almost  any  afternoon,  some  one  or  other  of 
these  delectable  acquaintances  might  drive  in  on 
their  way  somewhere  else,  and  then  it  would  be 
very  agreeable  to  be  around.  Of  course,  they 
never  set  out  for  the  sole  purpose  of  visiting  the 
Camp.  They  took  it  in  on  their  way,  and  some- 
times they  took  in  the  young  fellow  too,  in  making 
the  statement.  At  times  they  remained  so  long 
looking  at  the  mesquite  trees,  or  playing  with  the 
bob-cat  which  Percival  had  received  from  a  hunter 
109 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

when  but  a  few  days  old,  that  in  leaving  they  took 
the  direction  from  whence  they  came;  but  that 
may  have  been  due  to  absent-mindedness. 

Always  when  the  noon  meal  was  over  he  donned 
his  best  gray  flannel  shirt  and  greenest  tie  in  antici- 
pation of  visitors,  doing  the  honors  of  the  Camp, 
when  they  came,  with  an  air  of  proprietorship 
that  well  became  him. 

Percival  was  not  doing  so  well  lately;  he  was 
running  some  temperature,  and  Carlyle  was  deeply 
concerned  about  it.  His  digestive  powers  too, 
were  not  in  good  condition.  Carlyle  was  convinced 
that  much  of  his  trouble  was  due  to  the  excessive 
use  of  coffee,  of  which  both  were  very  fond.  The 
fact  that  Percival  was  hemorrhagic  made  it  spe- 
cially important  that  his  bodily  health  be  main- 
tained at  its  highest  standard,  so  as  to  prevent  a 
recurrence  of  a  hemorrhage,  or  in  the  event  of 
one,  to  enable  him  the  better  to  stand  the  strain. 
It  seemed  certain  that  coffee  was  at  the  bottom  of 
his  digestive  troubles  and  should  be  discontinued. 

But  how  to  accomplish  it?  He  might  make  the 
statement  that  it  was  injurious,  and  stop  making 
it  any  more,  but  it  was  by  no  means  certain  that 
Master  Percy  would  let  it  end  there.  It  would 
be  more  than  likely  that  he  would  make  it  himself 
in  that  event,  and  make  it  stronger,  and  the  last 
state  would  be  worse  than  the  first.  It  was  a  case 
no 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

that  called  for  diplomacy;  he  must  go  slow  in  the 
matter.  Precipitate  action  might  spoil  all,  thought 
Carlyle  sagely. 

"  The  way  we  drink  coffee,"  said  he  one  morn- 
ing at  breakfast,  beginning  his  campaign  by  reach- 
ing for  his  third  cup,  "  is  an  inordinate  and  sinful 
affection.     We  ought  to  cut  it  out." 

"  Once  you  get  the  bugs  into  you,  you're  just 
called  on  to  give  up  everything  you  like,"  re- 
sponded Percival.  "  But  I'd  hate  to  give  up  my 
coffee.  Remember  how  papa  used  to  like  it  when 
we  were  on  the  Yosemite  trips?  He  used  to  say 
we  made  better  coffee  than  Marie." 

This  was  not  a  very  good  beginning,  but  Carlyle 
bided  his  time. 

"  I  think  it  makes  us  nervous.  I'm  not  sleeping 
so  well  of  late,  and  it's  due  to  the  coffee,  I'm  sure. 
Making  it  ourselves,  we  drink  more  of  it  than  if 
we  had  to  ask  for  it,"  continued  Carlyle. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  the  coffee,"  replied  Percival, 
taking  the  other  side  from  force  of  habit.  "  Why 
doesn't  it  affect  me?  I  sleep  like  a  top,  except 
when  I  have  to  cough." 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much,"  asseverated  Car- 
lyle. "  I  toss  around  in  bed  sometimes  for  a  long 
while  before  sleep  comes  to  me." 

"  It  may  be  that  the  dry  climate  makes  one 


in 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  I  have  heard  that  theory  advanced,"  continued 
Carlyle,  "  and  it  may  be  so;  but  in  that  case,  it's 
all  the  more  necessary  to  avoid  anything  that  will 
aggravate  it.  I'm  sure  it's  the  coffee  that's  doing 
it.  How  annoyed  you  were  this  morning  over  the 
loss  of  that  collar  button,"  he  wound  up. 

14  Collar  buttons  are  at  the  bottom  of  most  of 
my  annoyances,"  replied  Percival  whimsically. 
44  To  have  only  just  the  number  you  need,  and 
then  for  the  best  one  to  roll  through  a  crack  in 
the  floor,  as  happened  me  this  morning  when  I 
was  putting  on  my  shirt,  is  enough  to  make  any 
one  mad.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  I'm  always  in 
trouble  about  collar  buttons.  Buy  a  quart  of  'em 
the  next  time  you  go  to  town,  and  then  perhaps 
I'll  have  one  once  in  a  while." 

The  talk  then  drifted  to  other  subjects,  until 
brought  back  again  to  the  main  issue  by  Carlyle. 

44  Father  used  to  think  that  coffee  made  him 
nervous,"  said  he. 

44  Yes,  but  he  didn't  think  it  so  strongly  as  to 
lead  him  to  give  it  up.  He  kept  right  on  drinking 
it  all  the  same." 

44  I'm  almost  sure  that  it  makes  me  wakeful  at 
times,"  asserted  Carlyle.  4I  There's  nothing  I 
value  so  much  as  good,  sound  sleep.  I'd  willingly 
give  up  the  coffee  to  be  able  to  sleep  again  as  I 
used  to." 

112 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  It's  not  the  coffee,"  replied  Percival  with  the 
superior  wisdom  of  twenty-one.  "  You  allow 
yourself  to  think  too  much  on  these  things.  You 
keep  yourself  awake  studying  about  them." 

11  I  believe  I'll  try  cereal  coffee  for  a  while  any- 
way," persisted  Carlyle.  "  I'm  told  it's  almost  as 
good  as  the  other,  and  I'll  soon  get  used  to  it." 

Percival  eyed  him  suspiciously.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  you're  trying  to  make  me  give  it  up  ?  Is  that 
what  you're  driving  at?  Well,  you  just  won't  do 
it;  I'll  tell  you  that  straight.  Make  it  raw  eggs 
now,  and  I'll  follow  you  gladly.  Why  do  you 
always  try  to  make  me  do  what  I  don't  want  to?  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  you  at  all,"  replied  Car- 
lyle mendaciously,  "  at  least  not  in  any  special  way. 
But  it  seems  rather  effeminate  to  be  so  fond  of 
coffee,  and  I'm  going  to  cut  it  out  myself.  I  think 
I'll  like  the  cereal  when  I  get  used  to  it." 

"  You  can  do  as  you  like.  I'm  going  to  have 
my  cup  of  coffee  for  breakfast  the  same  as  I  al- 
ways have.  I'm  not  going  to  be  cut  off  from  every- 
thing. If  you  want  to  drink  that  kind  of  stuff  you 
can,  but  that's  no  reason  why  I  should.  And  I 
ain't  going  to  take  no  six  raw  eggs  a  day  any  more 
either.  These  doctor  fellows  don't  know  every- 
thing," continued  Percival,  kicking  out  of  the 
traces  entirely. 

Carlyle,  contrary  to  Percival's  expectation,  made 
113 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

no  response  to  this,  and  the  subject  was  dropped; 
but  when  he  returned  from  town  that  afternoon  he 
brought  a  package  of  the  cereal  coffee  and  a  new 
coffee-pot,  making  himself  a  portion  on  the  follow- 
ing morning.  For  his  brother  he  made  the  regular 
kind  in  the  French  coffee-pot  as  usual.  Carlyle 
made  the  breakfasts,  urging  Percival  to  lie  abed 
until  the  meal  was  nearly  ready.  On  this  par- 
ticular morning  Percival  partook  of  his  coffee 
without  comment,  and  both  kinds  were  made  again 
on  the  following  morning.  Then  Percival,  seeing 
that  no  opposition  was  forthcoming,  relented  suffi- 
ciently to  ask  for  a  cup  of  the  despised  cereal,  add- 
ing that  he'd  like  to  try  the  darned  stuff,  he'd  seen 
it  advertised  so  much.  On  the  following  day,  both 
kinds  were  made  again  as  usual,  upon  which  he 
said,  half  petulantly,  as  if  to  conceal  his  embar- 
rassment at  capitulating  so  readily,  "  Why  make 
two  kinds  every  day?  One's  as  good  as  the  other. 
If  you  prefer  the  cereal,  I'd  just  as  lief  drink  that 
as  the  other.  I  believe  it's  coffee  just  the  same  as 
the  other.  Anyway,  it's  just  about  as  good,"  and 
cereal  coffee  carried  the  day. 

But  their  differences  did  not  always  turn  out  so 
happily  as  in  the  case  of  the  coffee  episode.  One 
morning,  while  at  breakfast,  there  had  been  some 
words  over  a  comparatively  trifling  matter,  upon 
which  Carlyle  rose  from  the  table  without  finish- 
114 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ing  his  meal,  and  left  the  tent.  Percival,  imme- 
diately conscience-smitten,  started  up  to  call  him 
back,  but  that  curious  reticence  that  is  so  often 
observed  between  brothers  restrained  him.  He 
was  greatly  distressed;  he  knew  himself  to  be  in 
the  wrong.  In  stirring  up  Carl  like  this,  he  felt 
like  a  person  who  had  committed  a  crime;  no 
atonement  that  he  could  make,  it  seemed  to  him, 
would  be  adequate.  Carlyle  would  not  reproach 
him — it  would  be  easier  to  bear  if  he  would;  then 
he  might  justify  himself.  "  Why  do  I  try  him 
so?"  he  asked  himself  with  bitter  compunction; 
11  Carlyle  is  usually  so  patient  with  me.  I've  often 
talked  in  like  manner  during  the  past  few  weeks, 
and  nothing  has  resulted;  he  must  be  getting  tired 
of  it  now.  I  am  always  doing  such  things;  and 
Carlyle  has  lost  his  health  working  for  me,  to  give 
me  a  chance  for  recovery.  I'll  be  more  careful  in 
the  future;  it  shall  not  happen  again." 

Filled  with  regret  he  looked  about  to  see  what 
he  could  do  in  requital.  He  would  do  up  the 
dishes,  and  have  the  tent  in  ship-shape  against 
Carl's  return.  And  every  afternoon  this  week  he 
would  lie  abed  until  five,  until  it  was  time  to  go 
and  get  the  milk.  And  he  would  stop  smoking. 
He  knew  that  nothing  he  could  do  would  be  so 
acceptable  to  Carl,  or  show  his  sincerity  so  much 
as  this.     In  furtherance  of  his  good  resolution,  he 

"5 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

took  down  his  pipe — a  Christmas  present  from 
one  of  his  confreres  in  the  bank — from  the  joist 
where  it  hung  over  the  photo  of  one  of  the  pretty 
San  Francisco  girls — and  put  it  in  the  stove. 
Gathering  up  his  cigarettes  and  tobacco,  he  took 
them  to  White,  saying  he  had  sworn  off  from 
smoking  and  had  no  more  use  for  the  articles. 

On  his  return  he  began  making  preparations  for 
putting  the  tent  in  order,  but  when  he  essayed  to 
fill  the  teakettle  to  have  hot  water  for  washing  the 
dishes,  he  found  that  the  water-bucket  was  empty. 
Percival  did  not  carry  water;  there  was  danger 
of  hemorrhage  (in  the  Camp  vernacular,  a  hemor- 
rhage was  generally  alluded  to  as  a  ruby,  and  the 
hemorrhagic  individual  as  a  Rubaiyat)  in  his  case, 
so  Carlyle  always  did  this,  but  without  thinking  of 
consequences,  he  grasped  the  bucket  and  started 
on  his  self-imposed  task. 

Carlyle,  walking  off  his  displeasure  by  a  cut 
across  the  desert  where  he  could  come  out  on  a 
road,  was  by  this  time  well  out  of  the  way  of  the 
Camp  and  did  not  see  his  brother  going  for  water. 
Percival  carried  but  one  bucket,  but  he  had  to  walk 
slowly,  and,  as  he  was  anxious  to  get  back  and 
have  the  work  done  before  Carl's  return,  he  did 
not  stop  to  rest  as  he  should  have  done.  The  un- 
accustomed exertion,  combined  with  his  agitation 
of  the  previous  half-hour,  was  too  much  for  him, 
116 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

and,  when  about  opposite  the  Deacon's  tent,  the 
blood  gushed  forth  in  a  stream. 

Luckily  he  was  observed  by  Branscombe  (he 
himself  was  unable  to  call  or  articulate  a  word), 
who,  with  the  Deacon's  assistance,  put  him  into  the 
latter's  bed,  and  then  ran  for  Fillmore.  The  usual 
restoratives  were  applied,  and  a  hypodermic  injec- 
tion of  morphine  given,  to  slow  up  the  heart  action. 
Fillmore  always  carried  the  materials  for  this 
about  with  him,  against  just  such  an  emergency, 
and  soon  had  him  comfortable.  While  he  was 
strapping  the  area  where  the  lesion  was  with  adhe- 
sive plaster,  Branscombe,  who  had  hastily  thrown 
the  saddle  over  his  pony,  was  galloping  into  town 
for  ice,  knowing  that  an  ice-bag  over  the  affected 
region  would  materially  aid  in  preventing  a  recur- 
rence of  the  trouble. 

Meanwhile,  Carlyle  had  walked  himself  out  of 
his  momentary  anger.  The  cool,  pure  air  of  the 
desert  felt  good  to  him,  and  he  prolonged  his 
walk  as  far  as  a  ranch  where  almonds  were  sold, 
in  order  to  take  some  back  with  him.  On  regain- 
ing his  composure,  he  began,  like  Percival,  to 
regret  his  part  in  the  little  bout,  and  resolved  that 
if  similar  provocation  occurred  again,  he  would 
keep  himself  in  hand — he  would  never  again  be- 
tray such  impatience. 

The  wound  occasioned  by  the  death  of  Carlyle's 
117 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

father  had  not  yet  healed,  and  the  occurrences  of 
the  morning  had  caused  his  sorrow  over  the  loss 
to  well  up  in  him  again  as  at  first.  And  the  worry- 
ing that  Percival  would  undergo  on  account  of 
their  little  tiffs  would  have  a  bad  effect  on  his 
health.  He  was  already  running  some  tempera- 
ture. The  thought  to  Carlyle  was  like  a  sword- 
thrust  in  his  vitals.  "  Why  is  it,  that,  knowing 
the  right,  I  so  often  do  the  wrong?"  he  asked 
himself  bitterly — as  many  another  has  done  under 
such  circumstances — remorse,  sorrow,  contrition, 
coming  uppermost,  obliterating  the  provocation. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  ranch-house  where 
he  intended  purchasing  almonds,  he  was  salving 
his  conscience  by  making  plans  which  would  inure 
to  Percy's  quicker  recovery.  He  must  get  him  to 
take  more  raw  eggs.  Percy  did  not  take  kindly 
to  them,  and  now  that  the  price  was  high  (they 
usually  remained  at  forty  cents  the  dozen  during 
January)  did  not  take  the  quantity  that  he  should. 
He  would  serve  them  to  him  in  the  form  of  des- 
serts. Percival  liked  sweet  things,  and,  by  beat- 
ing the  whites  only,  which  were  pure  albumen,  and 
what  he  needed,  with  a  little  sugar  and  some 
flavoring  extract,  vanilla  or  orange,  he  might 
make  something  palatable  which  the  lad  would 
relish. 

The  ranchman  detained  him  showing  him  some 
118 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

new  arrangements  in  the  poultry  houses.  The  boys 
were  planning  to  go  into  poultry  raising  in  Cali- 
fornia, when  they  should  be  able  to  work  again, 
and  meanwhile  lost  no  opportunity  of  gathering 
information  on  the  subject.  On  nearing  Camp  he 
thought  how  he  would  break  the  ice  by  telling 
about  the  poultry  houses  the  first  thing  on  entering 
the  tent,  calling  him  "  Pete  "  as  his  father  used 
to  do  occasionally,  and  then  everything  would  be 
as  before. 

When  he  returned  to  Camp  the  morning  was 
more  than  half  spent,  and  he  was  a  little  surprised 
to  see  the  breakfast-table  standing  as  when  he  had 
left  it.  It  struck  him  as  strange,  too,  that  Percy 
should  not  be  in  sight.  Ordinarily  after  one  of 
these  occurrences,  when  one  or  the  other  had  re- 
turned even  after  a  half-hour's  absence,  the  other 
was  sure  to  be  in  the  tent,  and  each  then  would 
have  something  to  tell  the  other,  to  show  that  all 
antagonism  had  gone. 

With  that  accuracy  of  vision  characteristic  of 
methodical  people,  the  slight  variation  from  the 
ordinary  occasioned  by  the  absence  of  the  water- 
bucket  and  the  pipe,  changed  the  appearance  of 
the  interior  to  Carlyle,  without  his  consciousness 
at  first  taking  in  the  fact  of  their  absence,  or 
wherein  the  change  lay. 

Mechanically  he  lifted  the  stove-lid  to  replenish 
119 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  fire,  and  saw  the  remains  of  Percy's  pipe  in  the 
ashes,  which  caused  him  to  deprecate  more  than 
before  their  recent  misunderstanding,  on  seeing 
this  evidence  of  the  lad's  contrition. 

The  consumptive  has  a  sword  hanging  over  his 
head  all  the  time.  The  knowledge  that  he  holds 
to  existence  by  only  a  slender  thread  sharpens  his 
vision  preternaturally  to  the  dangers  which  en- 
compass him.  When  Carlyle  noticed  the  absence 
of  the  water-bucket,  a  great  fear  surged  up  in 
him,  and  the  little  divergences  from  the  ordinary 
or  the  expected  which  had  confronted  him  on  en- 
tering the  tent  seemed  now  to  point  to  disaster  for 
Percy. 

But  before  he  had  time  to  formulate  any  plan 
of  action,  Mrs.  Williams  came  in,  having  been 
charged  by  Fillmore  with  the  task  of  informing 
him  about  the  misfortune  that  had  overtaken  Per- 
cival.  She  was  in  a  position  to  reassure  him  now, 
however,  as  more  than  two  hours  had  elapsed 
and  there  had  been  no  recurrence  of  the  hemor- 
rhage. He  was  resting  comfortably,  and  there 
was  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  would  pull 
through,  she  told  him. 

Carlyle,  with  the  self-restraint  which  had  be- 
come a  habit  with  him,  gave  but  little  outward  sign 
of  perturbation,  but  went  at  once  to  the  Deacon's 
tent,  where  he  found  his  brother  lying  in  a  kind  of 
120 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

stupor  from  the  effects  of  the  opiate.  Fillmore, 
who  had  remained  within  call  ever  since  the  occur- 
rence, assured  him  that  there  was  no  danger,  and 
that  if  nothing  untoward  intervened,  he  might  be 
moved  on  the  cot  to  his  own  tent  in  the  afternoon. 
He  then  suggested  to  him  that  he  get  things  in 
readiness  for  the  transfer,  and  asked  him  to  make 
some  beef  tea. 

Carlyle  went  about  these  duties  in  a  kind  of 
daze.  In  these  first  hours  he  felt  no  acute  sensa- 
tion whether  of  anxiety  or  pain.  He  knew  with 
a  kind  of  prescience  that  it  would  come  later,  espe- 
cially if  Percy  were  to  die  or  be  seriously  ill,  but 
for  the  present  he  was  numb,  now  that  his  worst 
fears  had  been  realized.  He  went  about  his  camp 
work  mechanically,  Fillmore  remaining  with  the 
patient,  and  at  noon,  when  Mrs.  Williams  came 
and  asked  him  to  take  dinner  with  them,  he  accom- 
panied her  to  her  tent,  talking  on  ordinary  topics, 
until  that  lady  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  down 
her  indignation  at  such  callousness.  In  comment- 
ing on  it  afterwards  to  her  husband,  she  remarked 
that  one  would  think  that  hemorrhages  were  an 
every-day  matter  in  his  family  he  took  it  so  calmly. 

When  Percival  awoke  about  mid-afternoon,  the 

transfer  to  his  own  tent  had  been  made,  and  he 

found    himself    in    his    accustomed    surroundings 

with  Carlyle  sitting  near.     He  turned  inquiring 

121 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

eyes  about  him  at  first;  then  a  wave  of  recollec- 
tion flooded  his  consciousness,  and,  reaching  out 
his  hand  from  under  the  blankets,  grasped  that 
of  Carlyle,  who  returned  an  answering  pressure. 
He  had  made  his  amends.  His  suffering  had  been 
his  atonement,  and  the  reconciliation  was  effected. 

But  in  the  evening,  when  Branscombe  looked 
in  at  Carlyle's  tent  to  ask  him  over  for  a  while, 
Fillmore  still  remaining  with  the  invalid,  he  found 
him  lying  prostrate  on  his  cot,  writhing  in  an 
agony  of  remorse,  his  hands  clutching  the  blankets 
spasmodically,  his  body  shaken  by  sobs;  Brans- 
combe retreated  abashed,  feeling  as  if,  in  intruding 
on  such  grief,  he  had  violated  a  sanctity. 

No  trace  of  this  agitation  was  visible  however 
when  he  came  into  Percy's  tent  a  few  minutes  later 
in  response  to  a  call  from  Fillmore,  who  had  been 
prompted  thereto  by  Branscombe.  The  same  calm, 
imperturbable  demeanor  that  ordinarily  was  his 
characterized  him  now,  and  Branscombe  mar- 
velled anew  at  the  repression  and  self-control  that 
were  here  exhibited. 


122 


CHAPTER   VII 

FILLMORE  was  kept  so  busy  these  days  by 
his  professional  duties,  that  he  forgot  the 
very  existence  of  the  L.  A.  A.  In  truth,  interest 
in  the  organization  languished  just  now.  The 
tension  produced  by  young  Latimer's  illness  made 
it  impossible  to  assume  these  light-hearted  atti- 
tudes. Two  lives  were  hanging  in  the  balance, 
and,  while  this  continued,  the  fellows  ceased  play- 
ing pranks  and  became  serious.  Latimer  was  im- 
proving slowly,  and  with  the  good  care  that  he 
was  receiving  would  probably  pull  through,  but, 
in  the  same  ratio  in  which  he  was  gaining,  Alford 
was  losing. 

"  Fve  just  come  from  Alford's  tent,"  said  Fill- 
more one  morning,  taking  a  stroll  with  White. 
11  He  has  that  high  temperature  regularly  now 
every  afternoon,  although  there's  probably  some 
temperature  all  the  while.  How  he  can  stand  it 
with  never  a  fire  in  his  tent  and  none  too  many 
blankets  is  more  than  I  can  see.  Yet  he  says  he's 
comfortable.  I  wonder  if  he  has  any  relatives. 
Some  one  said  he  has  a  brother  in  North  Carolina, 
123 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

but  no  one  seems  to  know  anything  of  his  affairs. 
He  really  ought  to  be  in  the  hospital  where  he 
could  have  the  right  attention.  I  see  him  two  or 
three  times  a  day,  and  do  what  I  can,  but  he 
oughtn't  to  be  alone  at  night." 

"  I  think  his  funds  are  running  low,"  responded 
White,  "  and  he's  afraid  of  the  expense  of  the 
hospital.  He  told  me  that  you  had  advised  his 
going  there,  but  he  said  he  couldn't  afford  it.  He's 
failing,  and  his  brother  ought  to  be  communicated 
with." 

"Can't  you  try  and  get  his  address?"  asked 
Fillmore.  "  It  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  ask  him. 
Being  his  medical  adviser  he'd  know  right  away 
that  there's  no  further  hope  for  him.  He's  been 
due  now  on  the  other  side  for  the  past  week  or 
more.  As  it  is,  it's  wonderful  how  he  keeps  up. 
He's  pure  grit.  The  case  is  miliary,  and  is  rapidly 
progressing  to  a  fatal  termination.  Manage  it  in 
some  way  to  get  the  brother's  address  and  have 
him  come  here." 

Accordingly,  White  elaborated  a  most  adroit 
plan  to  bring  this  about  which  would  leave  Alford 
none  the  wiser  as  to  his  motive  for  obtaining  it. 
It  was  all  done  surprisingly  easy,  but  when  he  had 
jotted  the  address  in  his  note-book,  Alford  said 
calmly:  "  It's  better  for  you  to  have  it,  so  that 
when  it's  all  over,  you  can  wire  him." 
124 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

Alford  was  indeed  pure  grit,  as  Fillmore  had 
said.  The  conditions  in  which  he  found  himself 
called  for  grit.  It  was  too  true,  as  White  sur- 
mised, that  his  funds  were  running  low.  The  hos- 
pital was  out  of  the  question.  The  accommoda- 
tions there  were  limited,  and  if  there  had  been 
free  beds,  none  would  have  been  available,  as  each 
would  probably  have  been  spoken  for  a  dozen 
times  over. 

The  dread  which  had  assailed  him  for  the  past 
year  as  he  saw  his  scanty  hoard  diminishing,  of  one 
day  coming  to  absolute  want,  was  fast  resolving 
itself  into  a  certainty,  and  he  set  himself  to  face 
it  with  a  determination  born  of  despair.  Yet  how 
he  clung  to  life!  He  was  so  weak  now  that 
he  could  do  very  little  in  the  way  of  preparing 
his  own  food,  and  for  a  day  or  two  had  lived 
principally  on  raw  eggs  and  milk,  which  was 
quite  sufficient  for  him  in  his  condition,  Fillmore 
told  him. 

He  had  kept  his  bed  the  entire  time  for  the 
past  week  or  more  on  account  of  his  temperature 
and  general  weakness.  The  constant  fever  was 
wearing  him  out.  Then  it  began  to  be  feared 
each  evening  that  he  might  not  live  the  night 
through.  Fillmore  usually  called  on  him  in  the 
evening  before  going  to  bed,  and  the  look  of  wist- 
fulness  in  the  sick  man's  eyes,  full  of  a  dumb 
125 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

entreaty  not  to  be  left  to  die  alone,  often  haunted 
his  slumbers.  There  were  times  when  he  was  un- 
able to  withstand  this  mute  appeal  and  he  would 
sit  with  him  until  midnight. 

One  evening  he  brought  in  a  dinner-bell  he  had 
gotten  from  town  that  day,  and  put  it  on  the 
stand  beside  the  sick  man's  cot.  Alford  under- 
stood. 

"  Should  you  feel  worse  and  want  anything 
overnight,  ring  the  bell  and  I'll  come.  Some  one 
or  other  of  us  will  hear  it  and  will  call  me  should  I 
be  sleeping,"  Fillmore  said  to  him,  and  Alford 
turned  grateful  eyes  on  him. 

On  the  following  night,  when  Fillmore  offered 
to  sit  with  him  until  midnight,  he  insisted  on  his 
going,  saying  that  he  felt  better,  and  thought  he 
might  have  a  good  night's  rest.  Somehow,  the 
bell  seemed  to  inspire  confidence.  It  was  like  a 
wire  connecting  him  with  his  fellows.  The  bell 
remained  on  the  stand  near  the  cot  along  with 
phials  and  other  sick-bed  paraphernalia,  and  came 
to  be  associated  with  the  idea  of  his  death  in  the 
minds  of  his  visitors. 

But  the  young  fellow  lingered  on.  Each  morn- 
ing for  a  week,  White  and  Fillmore,  whose  tents 
adjoined,  sought  in  the  other's  eyes  on  meeting, 
the  information  that  each  feared  to  receive.  Then 
one  morning  White,  bringing  a  light  breakfast 
126 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

to  the  sick  man's  tent,  saw  at  a  glance  that  all  was 
over.  The  end  had  come  quickly  and  painlessly 
by  heart  failure. 

"  How  long  ago  is  it  since  your  illness  first  be- 
gan to  show  itself?"  Branscombe  asked  his  part- 
ner one  morning  shortly  after  young  Latimer's 
mishap  with  the  hemorrhage.  They  were  sitting 
in  the  cook  tent  lingering  over  a  late  breakfast, 
and  had  been  discussing  Latimer's  condition  and 
his  chances  for  recovery.  Fillmore  gave  out  en- 
couraging reports  in  regard  to  this,  stating  that 
he  was  making  steady  progress  and  that  he  might 
be  up  and  around  again  in  a  few  weeks  if  every- 
thing went  well. 

11  It's  somewhat  over  a  year  now  since  I  first 
knew  of  it  from  a  physician.  I  had  been  feeling 
ill  for  a  few  months,  and  my  wife  insisted  on  an 
examination  being  made.  This  revealed  a  slight 
lesion;  the  trouble  was  clearly  tuberculous,  but  in- 
cipient, and  as  such,  the  strongest  prospect  of 
recovery  was  held  out  to  me." 

"  But  you  left  your  home  only  last  fall?  " 

"  Yes.  I  came  direct  to  Arizona  from  there. 
When  the  first  examination  was  made,  now  over 
a  year  ago,  the  doctor  advised  me  to  go  to  a  sana- 
torium, and  took  the  necessary  steps  to  secure  me 
admission.  At  that  time  the  prognosis  was  most 
.127 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

favorable,  and,  could  I  have  entered  then,  I  would 
now  probably  be  graduated  as  cured." 

"  How  was  it  that  you  did  not  enter?  "  asked 
Branscombe. 

"  There  was  no  vacancy  just  then  in  the  State 
Sanatorium,  which  admits  patients  at  nominal 
prices,  four  or  five  dollars  a  week.  The  expensive 
private  ones  were  out  of  the  question  for  me;  I 
had  only  my  salary,  having  given  up  most  of 
my  scholars  when  my  sickness  came  on.  Even  my 
salary  would  have  been  continued  only  to  the  end 
of  the  year  had  I  left  town  to  enter  one  of  these 
institutions.  As  there  was  no  vacancy  I  was  put 
on  the  waiting  list  and  continued  my  work  mean- 
while, carrying  out  the  instructions  of  my  physi- 
cian so  far  as  I  was  able." 

"  And  you  never  got  to  a  sanatorium  at  all?  " 

"  There  may  have  been  a  mistake.  It  is  possi- 
ble my  name  had  been  overlooked,  although  I 
never  had  an  explanation.  At  any  rate  it  was 
nearly  six  months  after  my  application  for  admis- 
sion was  made  before  I  was  notified  of  a  vacancy. 
I  at  once  presented  myself  for  admission,  but  on 
examination  was  refused,  on  the  ground  that  they 
accepted  only  incipient  cases,  and  that,  as  the  dis- 
ease had  now  progressed  beyond  that  stage,  I  was 
not  eligible." 

"  Good  God,  man !  You  don't  mean  to  say 
128 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

that  while  on  the  waiting  list  you  had  to  wait  so 
long  that  when  your  turn  came  around  your  disease 
had  progressed  beyond  the  incipient  stage,  and 
you  were  refused  admission  on  that  ground !  "  ex- 
claimed Branscombe,  repeating  the  other's  words 
almost  verbatim  in  his  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  simply.  "  The  facilities 
are  wholly  inadequate  to  the  demands  in  the  low- 
priced  institutions.  The  physicians  at  these  places 
affirm,  that,  as  they  are  unable  to  accommodate 
all  that  apply,  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  accept 
only  such  as  offer  good  chances  of  recovery.  And 
when  you  are  admitted,  it  is  not  final.  You  enter 
on  a  two-weeks'  probation  so  as  to  afford  an  oppor- 
tunity of  examining  your  case.  If  the  prospect 
for  recovery  does  not  seem  promising,  you  may 
have  to  leave  when  your  two  weeks  are  up.  Do 
you  know  what  that  means  to  the  applicants? 
It's  apt  to  discourage  them  so  that  it's  equivalent 
to  a  death-sentence  at  times.  It's  all  figured  out 
scientifically  and  impersonally,  the  economic  factor 
coming  first." 

"The  economic  factor?"  reiterated  Brans- 
combe. 

"  That's  the  way  they  put  it.  They  are  inter- 
ested only  in  making  cures,  not  in  prolonging  life, 
which  they  affirm,  is  properly  the  function  of  the 
hospital.  Each  individual  cured  goes  out  into  the 
129 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

world  again  and  becomes  a  worker.  He  is  then 
of  use  to  the  commonwealth,  and  it  has  been  worth 
its  while  saving  him.  While  it  is  true  that  genuine 
cures  are  effected  in  the  second  stage,  where  the 
disease  has  progressed  beyond  that  of  incipiency, 
there  is  no  certainty  in  the  matter,  and  it  is  also 
a  slower  and  more  expensive  process.  As  the  num- 
ber of  those  that  can  be  accommodated  is  so  lim- 
ited anyway,  only  those  cases  that  seem  most 
certainly  and  easily  curable  are  taken." 

"  It's  a  great  wrong,"  cried  Branscombe  with 
vehemence.  "  I  have  not  thought  much  on  these 
subjects  heretofore;  they  have  not  come  my  way. 
Of  course  the  fault  is  not  with  the  authorities  in 
the  institution,  but  rather  with  the  State.  If  the 
State  undertakes  the  work  at  all,  it  should  be  able 
to  take  care  of  as  many  as  apply,  no  matter  what 
the  stage  of  the  disease.  I  can  understand  that 
it  may  not  be  desirable  in  a  large  institution  to 
mix  the  advanced  cases  with  the  incipients;  sepa- 
rate accommodations  should  be  provided  the  two 
classes,  but  these  should  be  adequate  for  all  who 
apply.  To  do  less  than  this,  is  the  grossest  in- 
justice on  those  who  are  refused.  To  limit  the 
scope  of  the  work  to  the  incipient  cases  is  bad 
enough,  but  to  be  so  poorly  provided  that  they 
cannot  even  take  care  of  these,  so  that  some,  while 
waiting,  are  liable  to  lapse  into  the  stage  where 
130 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

they  will  not  be  accepted  at  all,  is  a  wrong  on  the 
helpless  that  cries  out  for  justice." 

"  That's  many  a  man's  plight  exactly,"  replied 
his  partner  calmly.  "  He  sees  life  slipping  away 
while  he's  waiting  for  the  chance  at  the  five-dollar- 
a-week  accommodations  that  he  can  afford,  since 
he  can't  afford  those  at  twenty  dollars  a  week 
offered  by  the  private  sanatoriums." 

"  How  can  you  take  it  so  easily !  "  he  exclaimed. 
11  It's  enough  to  make  one's  blood  boil  with  the 
wrong  of  it!  " 

"  What  is  there  to  do?  "  asked  the  other  calmly. 
11  Do  you  suppose  an  invalid  can  dictate  terms? 
Let  me  tell  you,  life  looks  pretty  barren  to  him. 
He  is  on  the  *  outs '  with  a  vengeance."  After  a 
pause  he  continued:  "The  situation  is  such  that 
he  soon  gets  used  to  injustice;  he  meets  it  on  all 
sides.  Others  hurt  him — he  doesn't  think  of  re- 
prisal. He  endures  with  what  patience  he  can 
summon,  glad  when  others  are  half-way  civil  to 
him.  Often  people  are  openly  hostile  to  us  on  the 
supposition  that  the  disease  is  infectious.  It's  not 
infectious;  not  even  contagious  in  any  right  sense 
of  the  word.  It's  communicable,  but  only  through 
the  sputum;  when  that's  guarded  against,  there's 
no  danger.  People  act  toward  us  as  if  we  had  no 
rights  whatever;  they  don't  care  how  they  hurt  us. 
Most  fortunate  people  are  strangers  to  pity."  He 
131 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

spoke  dispassionately,  from  inner  conviction,  ap- 
parently without  bitterness. 

"  The  situation  of  some  of  the  others  in  the 
Camp  here,"  he  resumed  after  a  pause,  "  is  very 
similar.  Could  they  have  entered  a  health  camp 
or  sanatorium  at  once,  on  discovering  their  trouble, 
the  outcome  in  each  case  would  be  more  favorable, 
and  some,  without  doubt,  would  now  be  cured. 
As  it  is,  they  will  continue  the  struggle  for  years, 
to  be  worsted  in  the  end,  most  likely.  And  the 
money  they  are  now  spending  is  greatly  in  excess 
of  what  it  would  have  cost  to  cure  them,  had  they 
gone  at  it  rightly  on  the  start." 

"  And  all  for  the  want  of  a  little  planning," 
mused  Branscombe. 

"  Every  one  commends  gifts  to  colleges,"  pur- 
sued the  other,  "  and  very  properly  too.  The 
tuition  fees  of  any  of  the  big  colleges  would  not 
half  meet  the  cost  of  maintenance.  It  follows  that 
the  work  would  not  be  half  as  efficient  as  it  is,  if 
it  were  not  for  the  endowments.  Not  a  student 
at  college  anywhere,  but  what  is  a  beneficiary  in 
the  sense  that  he  gets  something  that  he  does  not 
pay  for.  Yet  the  matter  of  higher  education  be- 
comes insignificant  when  compared  with  the  tuber- 
culosis problem.  What  good  is  education  to  a 
man  like  me?  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  be  healthy 
even  if  I  didn't  know  how  to  spell  anything  beyond 
132 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

two-syllabled  words?  Of  the  one  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand  people  who  die  annually  of  con- 
sumption in  this  country  a  goodly  proportion  could 
without  doubt  recover  and  go  to  work  again,  if 
the  right  facilities  at  the  right  time  were  provided 
them.  Cures  in  this  disease,  as  is  very  well  known, 
are  no  longer  problematical ;  they  are  being  effected 
every  day.  It  is  only  a  question  of  some  one  to 
plan  for  the  invalid.  Money  wisely  expended  in 
health  camps  and  endowments  would  be  the  means 
of  saving  thousands  of  lives  annually.  So  far  as 
securing  practical  results  go,  it  can  be  made  to 
accomplish  five  times  as  much  in  this  work  as  in 
ordinary  hospital  work  in  the  East." 

A  hectic  flush  appeared  in  his  face,  and  Brans- 
combe  endeavored  to  change  the  conversation, 
fearing  that  he  was  tiring  himself,  but  he  continued 
after  a  short  interval:  "The  endowments  to  the 
Conservatory  enabled  me  to  secure  a  better  musical 
education  than  would  have  been  possible  other- 
wise. Had  some  provision  been  made  to  meet 
the  necessities  of  the  situation  in  the  tuberculosis 
problem  as  in  the  former  case,  who  can  doubt  that 
I  would  not  now  be  as  well  as  ever,  and  earning 
my  way?" 

u  Just  now  I  should  say  it  was  a  case  for  private 
initiative,"  said  Fillmore,  who  had  come  over  to 
borrow  some  eggs  until  afternoon  when  the  egg 

133 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

man  would  come,  and  had  heard  the  latter  part 
of  the  Deacon's  discourse.  "  The  individual  must 
be  brought  to  see  his  obligation  in  the  matter  first. 
Legislation  will  follow.  Already  a  great  interest 
is  being  manifested  in  the  work.  One  sees  men- 
tion of  it  constantly  in  the  papers  and  magazines. 
This  in  itself  is  bound  to  tell." 

"  I've  passed  that  kind  of  thing  hitherto,"  said 
Branscombe,  "  but  now  I  begin  to  see  its  impor- 
tance." 

"  It's  as  important  as  any  question  before  the 
world  to-day,"  rejoined  Fillmore.  "  As  an  in- 
stance, take  White,  in  our  Camp  here;  a  man  of 
first-rate  ability,  with  any  kind  of  a  fine  future 
before  him  had  he  kept  his  health.  Such  a  man 
has  it  in  him  to  contribute  much  to  the  world's 
work.  The  cost  of  saving  him  is  infinitesimal  in 
comparison  to  his  value  to  the  community.  If  the 
economic  factor,  which  on  the  whole  is  not  so  out 
of  place  in  the  question,  were  carried  out  to  its 
logical  sequence,  it  would  include  the  effort  to  save 
such  men  even  if  they  are  in  the  second  stage  of 
the  disease." 

The  conversation,  following  so  soon  on  young 
Latimer's  illness,  made  a  profound  impression  on 
Branscombe,  acquainting  him  with  the  tragic  pos- 
sibilities of  the  life  all  about  him.  He  had  not 
half  gauged  it  before,  he  reflected. 
134 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

His  partner's  recital  stirred  him  deeply,  and  it 
set  him  thinking.  From  the  beginning  of  his 
acquaintance  with  the  Deacon  he  had  had  an  intui- 
tive perception  of  his  talents,  and  had  been  drawn 
to  him  even  before  they  camped  together.  He 
recognized  in  him  the  artist's  nature.  Here  was 
a  man  who  might  make  his  mark  in  the  world 
could  he  regain  his  health! 

All  at  once  he  saw  the  situation  as  it  was.  He 
had  not  at  all  apprehended  it  before.  The  tragedy 
of  it!  This  talented  young  fellow's  life  hanging 
in  the  balance  with  all  the  chances  against  him 
unless  some  one  came  actively  to  his  aid.  And 
then  he  saw  that  he  might  be  this  "  some  one," 
that  it  was  "  up  to  him,"  in  the  Camp  parlance, 
to  save  his  partner's  life,  if  it  were  to  be  saved  at 
all;  and  he  accepted  the  charge  without  hesita- 
tion. To  rescue  him  from  the  clutches  of  his 
disease  and  restore  him  to  a  life  of  usefulness — 
here  was  a  work  cut  ready  to  hand — a  work 
worthy  of  his  highest  powers.  It  seemed  felicitous 
that  it  should  have  come  his  way,  that  he  should 
be  the  instrument  by  which  it  might  be  achieved, 
and  he  began  to  set  all  his  wits  to  work  to  accom- 
plish it. 

Though  shy  and  undemonstrative,  he  made  it 
his  business  to  watch  over  him  and  see  that  the 
medical  directions  were  carefully  adhered  to.  He 
13S 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

saw  to  it  that  he  had  just  the  diet  that  he  needed, 
he  kept  work  and  worry  from  him  as  much  as 
possible,  and  made  various  efforts  to  entertain  him. 
That  this  intelligent  supervision  was  the  result  of 
conferences  that  Branscombe  held  with  the  Dea- 
con's physician  was  never  known  by  the  young 
man. 

The  Deacon's  case  was  not  so  promising  a  one 
as  was  White's,  for  instance.  Temperament  has 
an  important  influence  in  the  matter.  While 
camping  alone,  he  had  been  apt  to  brood  on  the 
changes  that  had  come  over  his  life,  and  had 
barely  managed  to  hold  his  own.  Branscombe 
was  told  by  the  physician  that  the  outlook  was  not 
favorable,  but  this  made  him  all  the  more  deter- 
mined to  succeed,  to  match  his  skill  against  the 
enemy's  and  come  out  ahead.  To  this  end  the 
young  man's  wife  must  come  out  in  the  early  fall. 
He  would  exert  himself  to  get  a  position  for  her 
as  organist  in  some  church,  and  he  was  sure  she 
could  get  pupils  also.  From  what  he  gathered 
from  his  partner  she  had  not  been  well  herself  of 
late,  probably  owing  to  worries  brought  about  by 
the  husband's  illness.  No  doubt  each  would  be 
the  gainer  through  her  coming. 

He  recalled  the  episode  of  carrying  water  for 
the  Deacon,  which  had  led  to  their  acquaintance. 
His  partner  had  told  him  a  number  of  times  since, 
136 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

what  a  boon  it  had  been  to  him,  and  how,  being 
hemorrhagic,  the  same  thing  might  have  befallen 
him  as  had  happened  to  Latimer  had  he  been  com- 
pelled to  continue  the  practice.  A  project  which 
had  been  floating  in  his  mind  ever  since,  now  began 
to  assume  definite  shape,  the  matter  having  been 
hastened  by  Latimer's  mishap.  When  he  saw 
what  a  relief  it  had  been  to  the  Deacon  not  to 
have  to  carry  water,  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  a  great  advantage  to  have  a  well 
on  the  grounds  so  that  no  one  would  have  to  carry 
any.  This  would  necessitate  owning  the  land  on 
which  the  Camp  was  situated,  but  that  would  not 
be  a  great  matter. 

On  the  morning  following  the  conversation  with 
his  partner,  just  recorded,  he  proceeded  to  town 
to  put  his  project  into  execution,  opening  negotia- 
tions with  the  owner  for  the  purchase  of  the  land 
through  an  attorney,  whom  he  charged  specially 
to  take  precautions  to  prevent  his  own  participa- 
tion in  the  matter  from  becoming  known.  The 
affair  was  soon  brought  to  a  successful  issue,  upon 
which  he  made  arrangements  in  regard  to  the  well. 
This  was  followed  in  due  course  by  a  windmill 
and  tank,  so  that  the  water  could  be  piped  to  the 
tents. 

Branscombe's  health,  heretofore  fairly  good 
according  to  the  ordinary  standards,  was  greatly 
137 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

improved  by  the  simple  life  he  was  living.  The 
work,  which  gave  him  an  object  in  life  and  made 
him  more  contented,  the  pure  air,  the  sound  sleep 
that  comes  to  the  sojourner  on  the  desert — all 
were  factors  in  a  rejuvenation  that  was  as  welcome 
as  it  was  novel.  Not  since  his  youth  had  he  known 
the  kind  of  sleep  he  now  enjoyed.  In  the  vigor 
that  it  brought  him  it  was  like  a  recurrence  to 
youth.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  this  town-bred 
man,  whose  strength  had  been  sapped  by  the  town 
life,  who  had  never  known  the  elation  that  comes 
from  living  out  of  doors — this  tasting  the  joys  of 
perfect  health.  In  this  respect  he  was  getting  as 
much  benefit  from  the  desert  life  as  any  invalid 
of  them  all. 

The  sanity  and  wholesomeness  of  the  life — how 
it  appealed  to  him !  Not  a  day  but  what  he  was 
glad  to  be  here.  He  often  wondered  why  the 
brain-fagged  lawyers  and  business  men,  and  the 
society  women  living  along  on  the  verge  of  nervous 
prostration — types  of  which  he  had  often  met  in 
New  York — he  often  wondered  why  they  did  not 
try  the  desert  cure  if  only  for  a  month  or  two. 


138 


CHAPTER   VIII 


J7W?, 


"T"\0  you  know  chamber-music  to  any  ex- 
\J  tent?"  asked  the  Deacon  rather  shyly, 
as  was  his  wont  when  talking  shop.  The  question 
was  evoked  on  hearing  Branscombe  whistle  some- 
thing from  a  Beethoven  quartet  as  he  entered  the 
cook-tent  where  he  found  his  partner  taking  his 
mid-morning  raw  eggs.  Branscombe  nodded  an 
affirmative,  and  the  Deacon  went  on:  "There's 
a  lot  in  it,  especially  in  that  kind.  The  better  class 
of  chamber-music  always  appealed  to  me,  and  I 
gave  up  a  great  deal  of  time  to  it.  But  it  can 
only  be  appreciated  rightly  when  you  know  it  by 
heart  and  can  carry  it  through  in  your  inner 
consciousness.  I  had  abundant  opportunities  for 
hearing  it  at  Leipzig.     There  was  an  excellent 

139 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

string  quartet  there,  as  well  as  two  or  three  small 
orchestras  among  the  students  at  the  Conserva- 
tory." 

"  They  do  those  things  better  out  there  than 
here,"  replied  Branscombe.  "  It  was  a  revelation 
to  me  in  Paris,  the  way  they  performed  some 
things  I  was  familiar  with.  Even  a  non-musician 
can  attain  to  some  culture  in  the  art  under  such 
favoring  conditions."  The  expression  in  his  face 
showed  that  here  were  pleasant  reminiscences. 

11 1  came  to  know  many  of  the  Beethoven  quar- 
tets by  heart,"  continued  the  Deacon,  "  I  heard 
them  so  much.  Of  course  it's  scholasticism,  to 
make  so  much  of  one  master  on  general  princi- 
ples, because  he  had  reached  the  most  command- 
ing place  in  the  art.  While  we  were  at  it,  many 
of  us  would  have  preferred  Schubert  if  we  had 
been  entirely  honest  with  ourselves,  but  few  could 
have  been  found  guilty  of  the  heresy  of  saying  it." 

"  The  world's  verdict  though  on  all  important 
matters  is  right,"  replied  Branscombe.  "  We 
have  to  work  up  to  the  level  of  what  we  cannot 
at  first  appreciate.  The  reward  comes  later.  I 
went  to  Paris  to  study  painting,  but  was  fortunate 
in  falling  in  with  musical  people  whose  society 
was  an  education  in  itself.  One  or  two  were  re- 
lated to  great  musicians,  and  one,  an  old  gentle- 
man, had  been  a  pupil  of  Chopin,  and  had  known 
140 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Liszt  as  a  young  man.  I  came  to  learn  or  rather 
absorb,  through  them,  more  of  this  art  than  of 
painting." 

u  It's  been  a  great  resource  to  me  out  here  on 
the  desert,"  mused  the  Deacon,  "  to  know  so  much 
really  good  music  by  heart.  It  enables  me  to  have 
concerts  all  by  myself.  I  am  not  limited  to  the 
quartets,  although  being  simpler  in  construction, 
they  are  more  easily  carried  through  in  the  con- 
sciousness. One  can  develop  one's  imaginative 
faculties  by  exercise  just  as  any  other  talent.  My 
memory  serves  me  well,  and  I  often  derive  as  much 
enjoyment  in  this  way  as  I  formerly  did  in  the 
actual  performance." 

Branscombe  remembered  the  rapt  look  that  he 
had  sometimes  surprised  in  his  partner's  face  on 
returning  after  an  absence  from  the  Camp. 

"  It's  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  because  a  great 
name  is  attached  to  a  composition  it  is  beyond 
one's  comprehension,"  said  Branscombe.  "  Even 
the  last  quartets  of  Beethoven,  difficult  and  unin- 
telligible as  they  are  said  to  be,  can  be  readily 
understood  through  familiarity  with  them,  and 
always,  in  some  portion,  as  if  to  tempt  one,  he 
comes  down  to  one's  level,  as  if  to  induce  one  after- 
ward to  rise  to  his.  Take  the  Opus  131  from 
which  I  have  just  been  whistling " 

"  You  like  it,  I  can  see  I  "  interrupted  his  part- 
141 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ner,  his  face  radiating  pleasure.  Then  he  took  the 
centre  of  the  space,  as  if  in  the  midst  of  a  group, 
and  began  whistling  the  theme  of  the  Presto,  in 
which  Branscombe,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the 
thing,  joined.  When  they  came  to  the  conversa- 
tional part  they  alternated.  At  the  short  im- 
promptu, which  ushers  in  a  repetition  of  the  open- 
ing theme,  the  Deacon  whistled  it  alone,  while 
Branscombe  danced,  slapping  his  hands  and  knees 
in  a  running  accompaniment.  The  Deacon's  eyes 
sparkled,  a  flush  appeared  on  his  face;  he  was  the 
young  student  again,  out  for  fun.  "  Whenever 
I  hear  that  Presto,"  said  he  as  he  sat  down  to 
rest,  "  I  imagine  a  lot  of  boisterous  students  repre- 
senting the  different  instruments  having  invaded 
the  orchestra  and  playing  pranks.  It's  a  lively 
dance-tune,  and  when  one  instrument  seemingly 
becomes  exhausted,  the  theme  is  taken  in  hand  by 
another,  the  basses  sometimes  playing  the  melody 
to  an  accompaniment  of  cat-calls  by  the  other  in- 
struments." 

"  And  to  think  that  this  was  composed  in  the 
greatest  distress  of  mind.  It  illustrates  how  ab- 
sorbing all  creative  work  becomes  in  the  hands  of 
talented  people,"  commented  Branscombe. 

On  returning  from  town  the  following  morning, 
he  surprised  his  partner  busy  at  notation  and  be- 
gan talking  to  him  about  it. 
142 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  It's  something  I've  had  in  mind  for  some 
time,  but  until  recently  have  not  been  in  the  mood 
for  it.  I'm  feeling  better  now,  so  I  thought  I 
would  attempt  it." 

Branscombe  was  interested  and  asked  him  to  tell 
him  more  about  it. 

"  One  of  my  instructors  at  Leipzig  suggested 
the  subject  to  me.  He  considered  me  good  at 
fugue,  and  thought  something  might  be  done  with 
it,  but  I'm  doubtful." 

"What  is  the  subject?" 

For  answer,  his  partner  showed  him  the  title- 
page  and  synopsis. 

1  Let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-mor- 
row we  die.  To  be  cast  in  the  form  of  a  double 
fugue,  the  strings  and  wood-winds  singing  a  lively, 
spirited  dance-tune,  in  the  minor,  while  the  brasses, 
in  undertones,  with  prophetic  warning,  tell  of  the 
morrow." 

Branscombe,  startled  into  vehemence  by  the 
infelice  subject,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
and  disapproval. 

"  You  shouldn't  attempt  anything  of  that  kind. 
Let  me  urge  you  to  drop  it.  It  will  depress  you. 
You're  getting  along  so  well  now.  Don't  do  any- 
thing to  hinder  it." 

11  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  in  that  light,"  said  the 
other  mildly.     "  If  I  really  became  interested  in 

143 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  work,  it  would  not  be  depressing;  I  would 
think  only  of  the  artistic  side  of  the  question." 

The  situation  held  elements  of  the  comic  in  it, 
in  the  man's  absolute  lack  of  the  sense  of  humor, 
thought  Branscombe  savagely.  Had  he  possessed 
even  a  glimmering  perception  of  it,  or  had  any 
idea  of  the  fitness  of  things,  such  a  subject,  under 
existing  circumstances  could  not  have  occurred  to 
him.  There  was  something  grotesque,  satyr-like 
about  it. 

"Why  don't  you  have  your  wife  come  out?" 
he  asked  him  after  a  pause.  "  You  tell  me  she 
remained  behind  on  account  of  holding  a  position 
as  organist,  but  something  of  the  same  sort  can  be 
had  here." 

"  She  would  like  to  come,  of  course,  and  it 
would  be  better  for  both  of  us,"  said  the  Deacon 
with  some  animation. 

"  I'll  exert  myself  during  the  summer  to  get  her 
a  position.  Changes  are  frequently  made  here  I 
fancy,  as  most  people  go  away  during  the  hot 
weather.  In  any  event,  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
about  pupils." 

u  She'll  be  glad  to  come,"  reiterated  the  Dea- 
con, "  especially  when  there's  a  prospect  of  a  posi- 
tion. I'm  writing  her  this  afternoon  and  will 
mention  it." 

"  And  you  must  drop  the  fugue !  My  word  for 
144 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

it,  it's  bound  to  have  an  unfavorable  effect,  any- 
thing so  doleful  as  that.  If  it  were  a  jig  now,  I 
wouldn't  seek  to  discourage  you." 

It  came  to  be  such  a  satisfaction  to  Branscombe 
to  contemplate  the  advantages  that  would  accrue 
to  the  campers  from  the  well,  especially  as,  by  the 
exercise  of  his  ruse  to  conceal  his  identity  with  the 
work,  their  gratitude  would  be  obviated,  that  he 
began  to  cast  about  for  more  work  of  a  similar 
nature  before  it  was  completed.  When  he  consid- 
ered that  his  outlay  of  a  few  hundreds  might  result 
in  preventing  deaths  which  otherwise  would  be 
likely  to  occur,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  money 
was  purchasing  more  than  any  like  amount  he  had 
ever  expended. 

A  windy  day  brought  him  his  opportunity.  He 
recalled  the  recent  windstorm  and  the  plight  of 
the  campers ;  how  the  fellows  either  had  to  go  into 
town  and  sit  in  some  cafe  all  day,  or  batten  up 
their  tents  as  much  as  possible  and  remain  indoors 
on  account  of  the  dust.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  build  a  casino  for  them. 
It  could  be  like  a  bungalo,  ventilated  from  the 
roof  and  sides  in  such  a  way  that  the  dust  would 
be  excluded  while  admitting  an  abundance  of  good 
air.  It  would  also  come  in  fine  as  a  general  meet- 
ing place  evenings.  He  would  have  a  good  tight 
floor  to  the  building  so  that  it  would  be  comfort- 
145 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

able.  Ample  heating  facilities  would  be  provided, 
as  well  as  an  open  fireplace.  He  would  send  for 
his  piano  and  pianola,  and  they  would  have  recitals 
when  in  the  mood.  He  would  have  his  paintings 
— well,  no,  on  second  thoughts,  not  the  paintings, 
at  least  not  the  nudes  (the  elimination  left  rather 
a  small  residue) — the  Deacon's  wife  would  be  out 
in  the  early  fall  and  he  must  have  due  regard  for 
her  sensibilities — but  the  engravings  could  come, 
and  the  rugs  and  bric-a-brac.  The  full-length 
plaster  casts  which  he  had  brought  from  Paris  for 
his  studio  on  the  Palisades — these  would  give  an 
artistic  touch  to  the  room.  He  would  dismantle 
the  studio,  sell  it,  and  have  all  the  trappings 
sent  on. 

The  furniture  too;  how  well  the  Chippendale 
pieces  would  look  here!  He  would  fit  up  the 
casino  like  the  old  studio.  He  would  put  in  some 
good  novels  too,  and  would  subscribe  for  a  half- 
dozen  newspapers  and  some  magazines. 

It  was  with  a  positive  elation  that  he  went  on 
building  these  air-castles.  The  best  of  it  was  that 
he  at  once  proceeded  to  put  foundations  under 
them,  possibly  influenced  thereto  by  the  dry,  stimu- 
lating atmosphere  of  the  desert. 

His  thoughts  recurred  again  to  his  nudes.  He 
would  sell  them,  all  except  the  Aurora.  He  would 
give  that  to  the  Herr  Professor  in  the  little  Black 
146 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Forest  village.  It  was  the  best  of  the  lot,  for 
which  he  had  paid  two  thousand  francs  years  ago, 
and  was  well  worthy  a  place  even  in  that  collec- 
tion. He  had  not  heard  from  him  directly  in  sev- 
eral years,  but  he  knew  he  was  still  living,  as 
he  came  across  frequent  references  to  him  in  the 
papers.  That  would  be  the  best  disposition  to 
make  of  it. 

Clearly  the  nudes  would  be  incongruous  in  this 
environment.  The  Deacon's  wife  was  evidently 
as  simple-minded  in  such  matters  as  was  the  hus- 
band; at  least  he  judged  so  by  her  letters,  which 
the  young  man,  in  his  husbandly  pride  in  so  choice 
a  possession,  sometimes  handed  him  to  read. 
Reading  between  the  lines  Branscombe  saw  that 
the  separation  was  as  much  of  an  ordeal  for  her 
as  for  the  husband,  although  it  was  not  allowed 
to  appear  on  the  surface. 

Brave  little  woman!  he  must  build  a  house 
adapted  to  the  climate  so  that  she  might  be  made 
comfortable  when  she  came.  It  need  not  be  large 
nor  elaborate.  A  few  large  rooms  on  the  main 
floor,  while  above  there  would  be  sleeping  porches 
opening  out  from  dressing-rooms — this  would  be 
all  that  was  necessary.  The  walls  must  be  built 
double  so  as  to  render  it  comfortable  in  summer. 
And  there  should  be  plenty  of  tiled  and  cemented 
space  outside,  interspersed  with  umbrella-trees  and 
147 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Italian  cedars,  and  he  would  have  gardens,  and 
date  palms,  and  giant  cacti,  and  a  fountain! 

He  had  some  misgivings  when  he  came  to  con- 
sider the  difficulty  there  might  be  in  keeping  his 
own  connection  with  the  work  from  becoming 
known.  He  could  not  have  explained  to  himself 
even  his  reluctance  to  appear  in  the  role  of  a 
philanthropist,  unless  it  was  that  his  life  hitherto 
had  not  been  of  a  kind  to  make  this  character 
appear  consistent.  His  ideas  on  the  subject  of 
philanthropists  were  vague  and  ill-defined  at  best, 
but  it  was  obvious  that  this  role  would  not  do  for 
him.  Mile.  Fifine  appeared  again  on  his  mental 
horizon.  He  imagined  her  ripples  of  laughter  at 
any  suggestion  coupling  him  with  such  work. 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  in  recall- 
ing these  phases  of  the  old  life  it  was  generally 
to  hold  them  up  to  scorn.  The  tawdry,  artificial 
life  of  the  Latin  Quarter!  How  cheap  and  com- 
monplace it  seemed  to  him  now,  contrasted  with 
the  present,  which  seemed  to  offer  some  justifica- 
tion for  living. 

His  attempt  at  maintaining  his  anonymity  did 
not  seem  so  futile  to  him  as  it  would  have  done  to 
a  more  practical  man.  He  knew,  of  course,  that 
when  the  casino  came  to  be  fitted  up  with  costly 
furnishings,  the  matter  would  have  to  be  accounted 
for,  and  some  one  would  have  to  be  placed  in 
148 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

charge.  He  consulted  his  attorney  about  it,  who 
had  ready  counsel. 

"  I  will  give  out  that  the  land  and  building  have 
been  donated  by  a  wealthy  tourist  stopping  in 
town,  who  has  noticed  the  camp,  and  wishes  to  do 
something  for  the  occupants." 

11  That's  all  right,  but  who  is  to  take  charge 
of  it?" 

"  You  are,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  will  simply 
state  that  the  donor  has  placed  the  business  super- 
vision of  the  matter  in  my  hands,  and  that  I  have 
appointed  you  to  relieve  me  of  this  part  of  the 
work,  since  you  are  living  on  the  grounds." 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  Deacon  when  the 
piano  reached  the  Camp.  As  it  was  a  wing,  there 
was  no  thought  of  getting  it  into  either  tent,  but 
Branscombe  solved  the  difficulty  by  putting  up  two 
tent  flies,  one  over  the  other,  for  protection  from 
sun  and  rain,  and  stood  the  instrument  on  a  plat- 
form beneath.  When  not  in  use  it  was  further 
protected  by  a  canvas  covering  fitted  around  it. 
As  soon  as  the  casino  was  finished — it  was  ap- 
proaching completion — the  instrument  would  be 
moved  there. 

Notwithstanding  its  rather  high-sounding  name, 

the    casino    was    simply    a    one-storied    building, 

raised  several  steps  above  the  level  of  the  ground, 

consisting  of  one  large  room.    It  had  an  abundance 

149 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  windows.  The  ceiling  followed  the  contour  of 
the  roof-timbers,  running  to  the  centre,  from  which 
a  ventilating  apparatus  projected  over  the  roof. 
Ventilating  arrangements  were  provided  at  the 
side  walls  also,  which,  with  the  open  fireplace, 
insured  pure  air  at  all  times.  The  lighting  was 
done  by  electricity,  so  there  was  no  contamination, 
as  would  have  been  the  case  had  lamps  been  used. 
The  interior  was  plastered,  the  roof-timbers  pro- 
jected between  the  plastering,  and  there  was  a 
hardwood  floor. 

The  colossal  bas-relief  plaster  casts,  together 
with  the  furniture  and  other  appointments,  avail- 
able after  the  dismantling  of  his  studio  made  an 
artistic  ensemble.  By  the  use  of  tall  Japanese 
screens  an  enclosure  was  obtained  in  one  corner 
like  a  smaller  room.  Books  and  magazines  were 
scattered  about  on  small  tables,  couches  and  easy 
chairs  abounded. 

It  was  indeed  an  important  feature  of  the  Camp, 
this  assembly-room,  and  was  resorted  to  each  even- 
ing by  the  boys  in  general  tor  an  hour  or  two, 
but  there  was  an  unwritten  law  that  it  was  not  to 
be  used  during  daylight  except  on  the  rare  occa- 
sions of  dust-storms.  On  such  days  it  was  a  haven 
to  them. 

Occasionally  a  young  ranchman  from  the  vicin- 
ity strolled  in.  The  attorney  called  one  evening 
150 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

with  Bob  Hinton,  noted  rider  and  broncho  buster. 
Most  of  the  members  had  been  to  the  steer-tying 
contests,  where  Hinton  was  one  of  the  shining 
lights,  and  it  was  a  great  event  to  meet  him  person- 
ally. He  was  a  fluent  talker,  was  perfectly  natural 
and  unconstrained,  and  entertained  the  company 
famously  with  anecdotes  of  his  adventures.  Al- 
though only  thirty-five  his  life  would  have  yielded 
materials  for  an  exciting  border  romance.  Next 
season  the  Deacon's  wife  could  organize  an  occa- 
sional song  recital  there. 

While  the  casino  was  yet  under  way,  Brans- 
combe  began  drawing  plans  for  a  bathhouse  and 
laundry.  The  lack  of  bathing  facilities  was  a 
great  privation  in  his  own  case,  and  of  course 
equally  so  in  that  of  the  others.  A  conversation 
he  had  with  Fillmore  one  day,  as  they  were  going 
into  town  together,  led  to  this. 

"  I  don't  know  of  anything  that  is  needed  more," 
replied  Fillmore  when  the  subject  was  broached. 
"  The  fellows  nearly  all  take  cold  baths  each 
morning.  Their  tents  are  cold,  they  splash  water 
about,  and  in  general  their  baths  are  taken  under 
difficulties.  A  warm  room  containing  a  few  shower 
baths,  with  a  hot-water  attachment,  so  as  to  have 
the  chill  taken  off  when  necessary,  would  be  a 
great  convenience." 

"  The  laundry  will  be  a  room  adjoining,  in 
I5i 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  same  structure,"  said  Branscombe,  who  had 
already  given  the  matter  some  consideration. 
"  The  fire  required  to  warm  the  room  will  heat 
the  water  for  bath  or  laundry  purposes.  There 
will  be  the  usual  appliances  of  a  laundry:  station- 
ary tubs,  a  washing  machine  and  wringer,  as  well 
as  a  mangle.  Pedro  can  operate  the  whole." 
Pedro  was  a  Mexican  who  had  recently  been  em- 
ployed to  look  after  the  casino,  and  do  other  camp 
work. 

14  The  advantage  from  a  hygienic  point  of  view, 
of  having  one's  own  laundry  cannot  be  overesti- 
mated," said  Fillmore.  "  I  have  a  theory  that  the 
bacilli  are  far  more  virulent  in  some  individuals 
than  in  others,  and  there's  a  possibility  of  re- 
infection from  wearing-apparel  sent  to  a  public 
laundry.  In  such  a  one  as  is  now  proposed,  every- 
thing could  be  sterilized.  I  hope  you  will  be  able 
to  influence  the  party  contemplating  this  improve- 
ment to  go  on  with  it,"  said  he  gravely,  as  they 
were  about  to  separate  after  some  further  discus- 
sion of  the  matter.  u  In  its  advantages  to  the 
Camp,   it  will  be  of  equal  importance  with  the 


casino." 


Branscombe  promised  to  do  his  best,  and 
thought  the  matter  could  be  managed  without 
delay. 

It  was  managed  without  delay,  the  lumber  be- 
152 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ing  on  the  grounds  and  the  plumbing  material 
ordered  before  the  week  was  out.  The  building 
was  simple,  being  in  effect  a  tent-house.  There 
were  three  dressing-rooms,  as  well  as  shower-baths ; 
a  wooden  partition  divided  it  from  the  laundry 
part.  A  small  frame  building  was  constructed 
near  by,  containing  a  bathtub  for  the  women. 

The  casino  had  the  effect  of  establishing  closer 
relations  between  Branscombe  and  the  campers. 
Fillmore  had  been  the  first  to  break  the  ice,  having 
called  on  him  even  before  its  inception.  He  had 
made  a  shrewd  guess  that  to  Branscombe  was  to 
be  attributed  the  improvements  that  had  been 
made  in  the  Camp,  which  was  confirmed  on  better 
acquaintance  by  little  slips  which  escaped  him  in 
conversation.  With  fine  tact  he  humored  the  evi- 
dent desire  of  the  other  to  remain  anonymous; 
when  he  had  occasion  to  refer  to  the  donor,  it  was 
always  in  the  third  person. 

Branscombe  had  so  far  no  definite  design  in  the 
work  he  had  done  for  the  Camp.  Not  much 
money  had  been  expended,  only  the  immediate 
present  having  been  considered.  His  mental  out- 
look was  broadening  all  the  while  however.  When 
he  started  in  on  the  well,  he  experienced  such  a 
degree  of  gratification  in  easing  the  situation  for 
the  people  about  him  that  he  was  led  insensibly  to 
make  further  efforts  on  the  same  lines. 
153 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

His  partner's  history  and  his  proximity  to  the 
campers  had  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the 
very  real  trouble  that  illness  brings  to  the  indi- 
vidual; and  although  these  young  men  appeared 
content,  often  concealing  pain  and  distress  under 
a  gay  demeanor,  he  knew  very  well  that  the  gayety 
was  often  assumed  to  enable  them  the  better  to 
bear  up  under  the  burden. 

Young  Latimer's  mishap  with  the  hemorrhage 
through  which  his  life  was  still  hanging  in  the 
balance,  its  resultant  effect  on  Carlyle  which  he 
had  witnessed  on  coming  into  his  tent  that  even- 
ing, Alford's  death — these  had  been  in  a  sense 
object-lessons  to  him.  Through  them  he  came  to 
see  the  tragedy  that  is  everywhere  just  under  the 
surface  in  life,  and  depths  of  his  nature  were 
stirred  by  the  spectacle,  of  which  he  had  hitherto 
remained  unknowing,  unconscious,  which  seemed 
to  lift  him  for  always,  out  of  the  petty  and  com- 
monplace into  nobler  planes  of  thought.  The 
blessedness  as  well  as  the  necessity  of  the  altruistic 
life  became  understandable  in  the  light  of  recent 
experiences.  It  was  as  if  conversion  had  followed 
on  repentance.  And  conversion  may  be  none  the 
less  possible,  none  the  less  genuine,  though  mourn- 
er's bench,  minister,  even  church  be  eliminated. 


154 


CHAPTER    IX 

THAT  the  Deacon's  health  was  improving 
under  the  better  regimen  became  readily 
apparent  to  Branscombe,  and  it  became  an  inter- 
esting work — this  fight  that  he  was  waging  for  his 
partner's  life.  Although  the  physician  held  out 
but  little  encouragement,  the  Deacon  seemed  to 
have  quick  recuperative  powers.  He  had  suffered 
from  loneliness  before,  and  the  camp  work,  some 
of  it,  was  beyond  his  strength.  Now  that  he 
had  better  diet  and  the  unfavorable  influences  were 
eliminated,  his  organism  quickly  responded  to  the 
change. 

Along  with  his  physical  improvement  came  also 
a  more  contented  frame  of  mind  and  heightened 
mental  power.  There  may  have  been  something 
in  the  dry,  ozonic  atmosphere  which  stimulated 
cerebration,  or  it  may  have  been  the  attrition  of 
mind  on  mind.  However  it  was,  he  became  con- 
scious of  a  quickening  of  the  intellectual  powers 
and  found  that  he  was  again  living  to  some  pur- 
pose. In  the  keenness  of  his  sensations,  in  the 
155 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

quickness  of  his  perceptions,  in  everything  that  is 
of  the  essence  of  life,  he  felt  strengthened  and 
rejuvenated. 

He  had  been  enjoined  for  many  months  from 
practising  as  it  fatigued  him  too  much.  When 
the  piano  reached  the  Camp,  it  was  with  a  verita- 
ble hunger  that  he  came  to  the  instrument.  He 
had  never  realized  until  now  the  extent  of  the 
privation  he  had  undergone  since  leaving  his  home. 
His  custom,  for  some  months  before  coming  to 
Arizona,  as  regards  his  practising,  had  been  to 
take  a  reading  of  his  temperature  and  pulse 
before  sitting  down  to  the  instrument,  repeating 
this  after  having  played  a  half-hour.  If  there 
was  marked  acceleration,  he  stopped  playing  for 
that  day. 

It  was  not  merely  the  physical  strain  that  had 
to  be  considered;  the  psychological  effect  also  en- 
tered into  the  question  in  those  days.  Some  works, 
in  particular  the  Sonatas  of  Beethoven's  later 
years,  excited  him  so  much  that  he  was  compelled 
to  leave  them  alone  for  the  most  part ;  they  drained 
him  of  his  vitality.  Certain  of  the  Chopin  Pre- 
ludes had  this  effect  also.  Even  when  hearing 
them  performed  by  another,  they  had  in  his  weak- 
ened state  set  his  pulses  throbbing  and  his  nerves 
a-quivering. 

He  now  found,  as  a  reward  for  his  winter's 

i56 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

sojourn  on  the  desert,  that  a  moderate  amount  of 
playing  did  not  fatigue  him.  After  an  hour  of 
it,  there  was  no  abnormal  change  in  pulse  or  tem- 
perature, and  he  got  into  the  habit  of  giving  little 
impromptu  recitals  each  afternoon  after  the  camp 
work  was  out  of  the  way.  The  silence  of  the 
desert  enabled  the  others  to  participate  without 
leaving  their  quarters. 

In  anticipation  of  the  arrival  of  the  instrument 
he  had  sent  for  a  few  of  his  favorite  compositions, 
those  by  Chopin  being  most  in  evidence.  He  had 
the  temperament  for  Chopin  and  had  been  told 
already  in  his  student  days  that  he  interpreted  him 
admirably.  Since  the  advent  of  his  illness,  how- 
ever— since  he  had  been  called  on  to  renounce  so 
much,  eating  his  heart  out  in  idleness  and  soli- 
tude, far  from  wife  and  kindred — since  then  he 
had  come  to  him  with  a  wider  comprehension. 
Many  things  became  plain  to  him  now,  of  which 
in  health  he  had  had  no  conception.  His  in- 
terior vision  had  become  preternaturally  devel- 
oped in  his  present  mode  of  life,  in  which  he 
was  thrown  back  and  upon  himself  almost  en- 
tirely. With  nothing  in  his  external  life  that 
appealed  to  him,  and  with  more  leisure  than  he 
knew  well  how  to  employ,  he  lived  mostly  in  his 
imagination.  This  strongly  intuitional  nature,  in- 
clined to  mysticism  as  is  the  case  with  many  highly 
157 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

organized  people,  had  his  moments  of  exaltation 
when  at  the  instrument,  and  his  performances 
came  to  mean  much  more  to  him  than  mere  amuse- 
ment. A  deep,  inward  serenity  permeated  his 
consciousness  at  such  times,  and  he  seemed  to  ad- 
vance by  leaps  and  bounds  in  comprehension  of 
the  subtleties  of  the  masters  he  was  interpreting. 
In  this  state  impressions  were  conveyed  to  him 
by  successive  flashes  of  enlightenment  transcend- 
ing any  other  experience  of  life.  The  Master 
now  spoke  to  him  with  a  new  meaning,  in  a  lan- 
guage idealized,  sublimated  —  a  language  in 
which  the  neophyte  was  equally  well  versed,  since 
both  had  been  schooled  in  it  by  the  same  dread 
disease. 

In  the  same  ratio  in  which  music  as  an  art  tran- 
scends all  other  arts  in  power  of  expression,  so 
do  the  later  works  of  Chopin  seem  to  transcend 
all  other  creative  work  in  their  subjectivity.  How 
these  fluctuations,  these  varyings,  betokened  the 
alternations  of  hope  and  despair,  as  if  recording 
the  course  of  his  disease!  It  seemed  now  to  the 
disciple  out  on  the  desert,  when  playing  again 
after  the  long  interval  in  which  he  had  been  with- 
out an  instrument,  that  he  knew  by  a  kind  of 
divination  with  just  what  thought  the  Master  had 
projected  them.  It  often  seemed  as  if  he  were 
speaking  to  him  directly  through  these  pages  com- 
158 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

municating  some  esoteric  intelligence — as  if  he  had 
had  him  in  mind  while  composing  the  works — as 
if  he  were  conscious  and  holding  communion  with 
him. 

In  thus  laying  bare  the  very  innermost  recesses 
of  his  spiritual  life,  the  Master  demonstrated  how 
he  was  able  to  lose  himself  in  these  creations.  In 
picturing  his  disappointment  and  despair,  the  neo- 
phyte saw  as  by  divination  how  the  sorrows  of  the 
other  must  have  left  him  in  the  joy  of  artistic 
achievement.  In  the  play  of  his  emotions  he  may 
well  have  forgotten  his  pain.  In  his  wonder  at 
the  quality  of  the  art-product  he  was  creating,  he 
became  reconciled  to  the  price  that  was  being  ex- 
acted for  it;  for  the  spirituality,  the  insight  which 
makes  such  achievements  possible  the  Deacon  now 
saw  is  vouchsafed  only  to  those  hovering  on  the 
border-land  of  the  other  world;  and  it  seemed  to 
him  at  times,  that  the  price  was  not  too  great. 

One  other  affected  him  profoundly,  too.  Men- 
tion has  been  made  of  the  last  three  Sonatas  of 
Beethoven.  To  these  works,  and  to  the  opening 
number  of  the  Mass  in  D,  all  of  the  same  period 
of  production,  the  Deacon  always  came  with  won- 
der and  a  kind  of  awe,  as  of  a  being  privileged 
to  approach,  though  perhaps  as  yet  only  on  the 
threshold,  a  mystery  ineffable,  the  full  revelation 
of  which  he  divined  was  reserved  only  for  the 
159 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

worthiest  lives.  They  were  to  him  something  hal- 
lowed, set  apart,  not  to  be  approached  in  every 
mood — to  be  reserved  for  his  best  moments. 

This  subjectivity — this  intense  interiority  ex- 
hibited in  the  later  works  of  Beethoven  as  well  as 
of  Chopin,  which  impresses  the  beholder  as  of  a 
life-tragedy  transpiring  before  his  very  eyes — 
which  it  indeed  is — how  it  appealed  to  him!  how 
it  stood  out  in  this  environment !  The  desert  sup- 
plied a  unique  setting  for  it  and  its  significance 
was  heightened  thereby.  In  the  vastness  and  still- 
ness and  isolation  from  counter  influences  which 
the  desert  affords,  this  art-work  seemed  the  one 
pregnant  point  in  the  universe. 

The  artistic  possibilities  in  Branscombe  respond- 
ed to  the  master-performances  of  his  partner  and 
strengthened  the  bond  between  them.  In  his  circle 
in  Paris  there  had  been  a  Chopin  cult;  he  was 
familiar  with  the  Preludes  and  much  of  the  other 
work,  but  he  realized  that  he  had  never  really 
appreciated  them  until  now.  The  technique  had 
been  correct  enough;  it  was  in  the  interpretation 
that  the  difference  lay, — in  that,  and  yes!  in  him- 
self too,  in  his  own  larger  receptivity.  It  was  to 
him  an  initiation  into  a  new  world  of  thought — 
this  revelation  of  the  music  of  the  Polish  master 
which  took  place  through  his  partner's  instru- 
mentality. He  recognized  it  as  yet  another  out- 
160 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

come   of   the   worthier   life   he  was   living — this 
heightened  sensibility  toward  such  things. 

On  one  occasion  the  Deacon  began  his  after- 
noon performance  with  a  Chopin  Prelude,  the 
sadness  of  which,  ending  in  despair,  he  had  found 
so  depressing  that  he  had  kept  away  from  it  hith- 
erto. He  continued  with  others  of  the  same  class, 
and  Branscombe,  sitting  in  his  tent  near  by,  listened 
spellbound.  From  the  beginning,  as  the  open- 
ing chords  were  struck,  his  attention  was  arrested 
by  something  unusual  in  the  performance.  He 
had  often  heard  the  Prelude  performed  in  Paris, 
but  never  had  such  a  tragic  significance  been  given 
it  as  now. 

How  like  life  it  was,  even  in  its  brevity,  he 
thought.  And  these  buoyant  tone-figures  intro- 
duced in  the  midst  of  the  tragedy,  like  the  sud- 
den irresistible  leap  of  the  fancy  to  flights  of  joy, 
irradiating  for  the  moment  the  gray  background 
with  their  note  of  cheer,  then  quickly  called  back 
again  to  the  somber  things,  the  painful  things — 
how  like  life  this!  And  all  the  while  in  under- 
tones the  theme  with  varying  harmony  and  meas- 
ured rhythm  forging  ahead  like  the  tread  of  many 
feet  marching  on  to  the  fulfillment  of  some  inex- 
orable destiny! 

As   the   brief   recital  approached   its   end,   it 
seemed  to  Branscombe  as  if  he  were  looking  into 

161 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

his  partner's  soul,  and  he  became  aware  that  the 
other  had  been  speaking  to  him  through  his  art, 
conveying  his  thoughts  through  this  most  subtle 
medium,  giving  him  an  epitome  of  his  life,  with  all 
its  protest  against  fate.  The  pent-up  fury,  the  bit- 
terness that  he  had  never  expressed  in  words,  the 
disappointment  over  thwarted  ambitions,  the  im- 
potent rage  when  he  reflected  that  the  sacrifice 
was  unnecessary  and  might  have  been  warded  off 
— all  the  tragedy  of  his  life  had  been  depicted  in 
this  half-hour's  performance,  causing  Branscombe 
to  be  profoundly  affected  by  it,  and  leading  him 
to  resolve  anew  to  do  all  that  was  possible  to  aid 
in  his  restoration  to  health. 

The  psychology  of  suffering,  its  adequate  por- 
trayal— perhaps  this  is  the  highest  and  truest  in 
all  art,  demanding  the  best  from  human  endeavor 
at  every  stage  of  the  effort  from  its  incipiency  in 
the  artist's  mind  to  its  perception  by  the  beholder. 
The  spiritual  essence  that  exists  in  every  great 
art-work, — evidence  of  the  divine  intervention  in 
human  affairs,  is  always  most  apparent  here,  its 
purpose  and  message — self-illumination.  Much 
of  the  Chopin  music  and  many  of  the  creations 
of  Beethoven's  later  years  are  in  this  class,  intime, 
soul-searching,  a  veritable  language  of  sorrow. 
Only  the  soul  which  has  suffered  is  capable  of  this 
kind  of  portrayal — only  such  a  one  is  qualified  to 
162 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

receive  its  message.  Born  in  pain,  in  a  very  travail 
of  anguish,  these  works  tell  their  story  fully  in 
some  mystical  way  only  to  such  as  have  suffered 
equally  with  the  creator  of  them;  they  pass  over 
the  heads  of  others,  speaking  to  them  merely 
through  their  artifice. 

We  would  look  in  vain  for  a  message  of  this 
kind  in  the  large  musical  forms — those  intended 
for  stage  representation — the  Opera,  or  even  the 
Symphony  or  Oratorio.  Even  in  such  portions 
of  them  in  which  the  effect  sought  for  is  the  por- 
trayal of  sorrow,  it  falls  wide  of  the  mark  as  com- 
pared with  the  other;  it  exhibits  only  a  dramatic 
sorrow,  it  is  not  intime;  it  makes  no  personal 
appeal  as  in  the  case  of  the  other,  which  speaks 
directly  to  the  individual  need.  The  one  is  like 
oratory;  the  other,  the  heartfelt  sympathy  of  the 
friend. 

The  message  speaks  strongly  to  men  like  Brans- 
combe,  who,  while  capable  of  the  higher  life  have 
chosen  the  lower  of  set  purpose  and  have  been 
brought  to  the  point  where  they  see  their  mistake. 
To  such,  who  have  been  made  to  suffer  by  their 
folly,  who,  when  their  eyes  have  been  opened  to 
a  realization  of  it  have  bowed  their  necks  to  the 
yoke,  and  in  atoning  are  transformed — to  these 
regenerate  ones  is  the  artist's  message  fully  re- 
vealed.   To  the  soul  that  has  once  seen  itself  face 

163 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

to  face,  accepting  humbly  its  penance,  acquiescing 
in  it,  making  no  plea,  desiring  only  reinstatement 
— to  such  a  one  is  given  the  spiritual  essence  of 
works  of  this  nature.  He  is  partaker  with  the 
artist  in  the  Mystery,  participant  in  the  miracle 
enacted. 


164 


CHAPTER   X 

"  A  NY  °^  y°u  feU°ws  heard  anything  regard- 
±\.  ing  Blakeslee  ?  "  asked  a  visitor  at  the 
Camp  one  morning.  He  lived  in  town,  and  had 
known  White  and  Fillmore  the  previous  year.  He 
came  to  the  Camp  periodically,  and  soon  became 
acquainted  with  the  party. 

"Who's  Blakeslee ?"  asked  Farrell,  of  the 
"  Wells-Fargo  outfit." 

"  A  lunger  who  came  here  last  year  with  a  full- 
dress  outfit.  Fine  fellow;  good  as  they  make  'em, 
but  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  up  against  or  he 
would  have  cut  that  out.  He  and  White  were 
partners  all  last  summer  in  Prescott." 

"  Your  turn,  White,"  said  another,  Bruce  Mc- 
Sorley  by  name.  He  was  a  Scotchman,  but  on 
account  of  his  freckles  and  auburn  hair  had  been 
dubbed  "  Micky."  This  sobriquet,  along  with  his 
physiological  peculiarities,  lent  him  the  air  of  an 
Irishman,  which  part  he  tried  his  best  to  live  up 
to.  "  Give  us  the  history  of  the  society  man  on 
the  desert." 

"  Haven't  seen  him  in  a  long  while,"  replied 
165 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

White,  "  not  since  the  middle  of  December.  He 
lives  only  a  few  miles  from  here  too,  but  I  haven't 
got  to  it,  haven't  felt  like  it,  and  that's  a  fact.  I 
didn't  like  to  think  of  his  living  alone  on  the 
desert  and  urged  him  the  last  time  I  was  there 
to  move  his  outfit  to  our  camping  place  here,  but 
I  couldn't  prevail  on  him.  He  looked  pretty 
homesick  too,  but  wouldn't  admit  it." 

"  Let's  go  and  see  him  this  afternoon,"  pro- 
posed Fillmore.  "  I  liked  him  first-rate,  what  I 
saw  of  him.  I've  nothing  on  for  this  afternoon, 
and  would  like  to  take  a  ride." 

"All  right,  Filly,"  assented  White.  "It'll 
cheer  him  up,  and  we  may  be  able  to  persuade  him 
to  move  his  tent  here.  Any  one  would  get  home- 
sick living  all  alone  that  way.  The  little  he  earns 
packing  oranges  isn't  worth  while.  He's  not  fit 
to  work  anyway." 

"  I  saw  him  in  town  once  last  winter,"  volun- 
teered another.  "  He  was  togged  up  to  go  to 
some  society  affair.  I  told  him  then  to  cut  it 
out." 

11 1  wish  he  would  come  here,"  reiterated  White. 
"  The  poor  fellow  will  die  of  loneliness  there. 
He  works  a  couple  of  hours,  then  goes  back  to  his 
tent  and  gets  a  little  to  eat.  In  the  afternoon  it's 
the  same.  Toward  evening  he  hikes  back  to  his 
tent,  cooks  a  little,  eats  all  alone.  After  he  washes 
1 66 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

his  dishes  he  reads  an  hour  or  two,  then  goes  to 
bed.  Sometimes  he  doesn't  see  more  than  one  or 
two  persons  all  day." 

The  talk  then  drifted  to  other  things,  but  in 
the  afternoon,  when  the  two  were  jogging  along 
in  the  old  buggy,  it  was  resumed. 

11  What  was  Blakeslee's  occupation  back 
East?" 

"  Line  draughtsman  in  a  photo-engraving 
house,"  replied  White  sententiously.  "  He  had 
a  sister  depending  on  him,  but  she  supports  her- 
self now." 

"  He  sure  liked  society,"  remarked  Fillmore, 
occasionally  adopting  the  Western  phraseology. 
"  A  good-looking  fellow  like  him  has  things  made 
pleasant  for  him,  you  bet,  when  he's  out  in  com- 
pany." 

White  went  on  with  his  narrative.  "  He  has 
some  wealthy  relatives,  an  uncle  and  cousins,  in 
the  East.  I've  sometimes  thought  one  of  the 
cousins  was  a  sweetheart,  but  have  no  reason  for 
thinking  so.  He  was  always  reticent.  Anyhow, 
letters  frequently  passed  between  them,  and  some- 
times he  seemed  quite  cast  down  after  receiving 
one.  He  used  to  tell  me  a  little  about  them,  how 
they  were  gay,  fashionable  people,  quite  wealthy, 
but  living  beyond  their  means.  It  was  the  very 
antithesis  of  his  present  life,  and  the  letters  may 
167 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

have  called  up  the  former  one  so  vividly  as  to 
make  him  homesick." 

Their  way  led  them  a  mile  or  two  along  rows 
of  cottonwoods  on  the  edge  of  alfalfa  fields. 
Every  little  while  a  bungalow,  embowered  in 
China  trees  with  occasional  palms  interspersed, 
hove  into  sight.  Further  on,  ranch  and  desert 
alternated,  and  the  road  at  times  took  a  short  cut 
across  a  stretch  of  desert.  There  was  an  intensely 
blue  sky  overhead,  brilliant  sunshine  bathed  the 
land;  on  every  side  the  horizon  was  bounded  by 
mountains.  White  continued :  "  The  Copelands, 
the  relatives  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking, 
used  to  send  him  newspapers  containing  items 
about  themselves  marked  in  blue  pencil.  The 
items  always  referred  to  dinner  parties  given  by 
them,  or  to  society  events  at  which  they  figured 
as  guests.  I  sometimes  thought  that  in  exploit- 
ing their  own  more  fortunate  condition,  the  con- 
trast presented  thereto  by  their  relative's  depriva- 
tions, was  not  among  the  least  of  their  motives 
in  remembering  him." 

"  There  are  persons  who  have  brought  selfish- 
ness to  a  fine  art.  Dilettante  in  everything  else, 
they  become  adepts  in  this." 

A  jack-rabbit,  caught  napping,  ran  from  almost 
under  the  horse's  feet,  fleeing  in  graceful  leaps 
and  bounds  from  the  threatened  danger.  A  stac- 
168 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

cato  whistle  from  White  emphasized  the  danger 
and  accelerated  his  speed.  When  out  of  gunshot, 
he  came  to  a  halt  on  a  little  mound  and  looked 
back  at  them.  After  a  while  White  went  on  with 
his  story. 

"  Last  Christmas  they  sent  him  a  diamond 
scarfpin  and  an  edition  de  luxe  of  Browning." 

Fillmore  laughed. 

11  When  I  told  the  fellows  in  the  Camp  about 
it,  Micky  grinned.  '  I  catch  on  to  the  scarfpin  all 
right,  but  I  don't  savvy  the  other.  You'll  have 
to  come  down  to  plain  United  States  with  me,'  he 
said. 

11  They  invited  him  to  their  house  a  good  deal, 
I  fancy,"  went  on  White.  "  He's  a  fine  presenta- 
ble fellow  who  would  do  credit  to  any  gathering. 
But  I  don't  think  they  know  much  about  his  pres- 
ent circumstances." 

"  Or  care  either,"  supplemented  Fillmore. 

"  These  people  living  on  the  edge  of  the  highest 
society,  lacking  the  great  wealth  which  would  give 
them  the  assured  position  they  covet,  having  no 
motive  in  life,  or  if  there  is  one,  it  consists  in  ap- 
pearing rather  than  being — are  not  at  all  to  be  en- 
vied. Give  me  health,  and  I  wouldn't  exchange 
with  any  of  them,"  said  White  with  conviction. 

"  I'd  rather  be  a  cowboy,  or  as  one  of  these 
ranchers,"  said  Fillmore,  "  but  it's  all  a  matter 
169 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  environment,  or  rather,  it's  the  way  you  start 
in.  Let  your  cowboy  or  ranchman  go  to  New 
York  to  live,  and  it  wouldn't  be  long  before  the 
city  would  get  in  its  work  on  him.  He  would 
conform  to  its  requirements  just  as  the  others  do." 

"Never!"  cried  White.  "I  can't  imagine  a 
cowboy  wearing  cuffs  on  his  pants  or  a  plug  hat !  " 

Fillmore  laughed  at  the  fancy.  "  What  do  you 
suppose  his  old  partners  would  do  to  him  if  they 
ever  caught  him  wearing  a  plug  hat?  " 

"  Splash  it  full  of  lead,  I  suppose,  and  yet,  the 
carved  leather  bands  they  wear  on  their  own  hats 
are  quite  as  unnecessary  and  uncalled  for." 

"  The  next  improvement  in  order  in  our  Camp 
is  a  dining-room  and  kitchen.  I  believe  this  will 
come  to  pass  next  fall.  Think  of  Alford  lying 
there  in  his  tent,  being  cared  for  by  other  sick 
people !  " 

"  That's  better  than  to  be  alone,  however,  as 
Blakeslee  is,"  said  White,  whose  apprehensions 
seemed  to  gather  force  the  nearer  he  approached 
his  friend.  "  We  must  tell  him  about  these 
changes  and  improvements  to  our  Camp.  It  will 
be  an  added  inducement  in  getting  him  to  come 
to  us.  I'll  make  him  a  proposition  to  the  effect 
that  if  he'll  come  to  us  for  the  balance  of  the 
winter,  I'll  spend  the  summer  with  him  wherever 
he  will  care  to  go." 

170 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"If  the  dining-room  and  kitchen  are  installed, 
of  which  there  is  but  little  doubt  in  my  mind,  the 
Camp  will  become  a  permanent  thing,"  communi- 
cated Fillmore.  "  I've  heard  nothing  to  that 
effect,  but  this  is  the  logical  outcome  of  what  has 
already  been  done.  Then  it  will  grow.  There's 
the  nucleus  of  a  fine  sociological  experiment  here. 
I  shall  stay  right  on,  and  will  volunteer  my  ser- 
vices. Although  I've  had  no  practice,  my  illness 
having  coming  on  just  after  graduation,  I  can  get 
along  with  most  of  the  work  all  right.  For  that 
matter,  arrangements  can  be  made  with  a  doctor 
from  town  to  visit  the  Camp  periodically  for  the 
first  year." 

He  paused,  and  when  White  had  given  his 
assent  to  the  proposition,  continued: 

"  There  should  be  daily  examinations  of  pulse 
and  temperature  so  as  to  combat  every  symptom 
as  it  arises.  When  a  man  has  a  temperature, 
even  if  one  degree  above  the  normal,  he  should 
keep  very  quiet.  He'd  best  keep  to  his  bed  if 
possible,  until  it  gets  back  to  normal.  If  it's  sub- 
normal, as  is  sometimes  the  case,  a  moderate 
amount  of  exercise  is  helpful,  but  this  should  be 
carefully  watched  so  as  not  to  overdo  it.  The 
body-weight  and  chest  measurement  of  each  should 
also  be  taken  periodically  and  records  kept  of  each 
individual.  By  frequent  examinations,  complica- 
171 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

tions  are  often  avoided,  or  at  least  more  easily  met. 
Take  diabetes  for  instance,  which  is  an  occasional 
complication  of  tuberculosis  and  frequently  fatal. 
A  tendency  in  that  direction  can  sometimes  be  dis- 
covered in  time  to  be  controlled  by  suitable  diet. 
In  any  event,  the  condition  can  be  ameliorated 
when  discovered  early,  and  the  life  may  thus  be 
prolonged." 

"  You  speak  about  suitable  diet,',  replied  White. 
"  If  alimentation,  or  rather  superalimentation, 
plays  such  an  important  part  in  fighting  the  dis- 
ease, and  that's  a  pretty  well-established  fact,  I 
should  think  an  expert  in  dietetics  would  be  a  most 
valuable  man  around  a  health  camp.  Have  you 
gone  into  that  any?  " 

"In  a  general  way,  yes,  but  only  on  my  own 
account.  I'll  get  into  communication  with  my  old 
professor  in  Theory  and  Practice,  and  have  him 
outline  a  course  of  reading  for  me  on  the  subject. 
They  seem  to  put  their  whole  reliance  here  on 
climate,  but  good  diet  is  really  of  more  importance. 
As  has  been  well  said,  poor  climate  with  good 
food  is  better  than  a  good  climate  and  poor  food. 
Good  care  throughout  is  more  important  than  cli- 
mate. Good  care  and  good  climate  combined,  as 
in  a  good  health  camp,  is  of  course  best." 

u  The  fellow  that  wins  out  in  this  disease,"  said 
White,  "  is  the  one  who  can  study  his  own  case 
172 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

intelligently  so  as  to  cooperate  with  his  physician. 
I  long  ago  took  up  this  question  of  diet,  and  I  think 
that  explains  to  a  great  extent  why  I  am  getting 
along  so  well.  Of  course  the  information  I've 
gained  on  the  subject  is  only  relative  and  approxi- 
mate. No  doubt  a  fuller  knowledge  would  secure 
better  results.  I  avoid  sweets  in  general,  and 
starches  as  much  as  possible.  I  masticate  my  food 
thoroughly  so  as  to  have  it  well  salivated,  and 
try  to  get  the  right  proportion  of  proteids  and 
fruits.  And  I'm  careful  not  to  eat  too  much  at 
any  one  meal." 

"A  frequent  complaint  of  the  invalids  here- 
abouts," declared  Fillmore,  "  is  that  they  have 
a  weak  stomach.  Digestion  and  assimilation  are 
generally  poor  in  this  disease,  and  in  many  cases 
the  trouble  has  been  aggravated  by  medicines. 
One  or  two  of  the  invalids  in  our  Camp  were 
almost  all  in  when  they  came,  owing  to  the  creo- 
sote they  had  taken.  Many  abuse  their  stomachs 
systematically.  When  I  see  the  indigestible  stuff 
most  invalids  eat — starches,  hot  breads,  pastry — 
it  always  seems  to  me,  knowing  as  I  do  the  bad 
after-effects,  like  attempting  suicide." 

"  In  the  ideal  health  camp  there  would  be  a 

dietitian  who  would  make  out  the  menu  for  each 

meal,"  replied  White.     "Only  such   food  as  is 

most  easily  digested  would  be  offered,  and  it  would 

173 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

be  served  attractively.  There  are  half  a  dozen 
ways  of  serving  raw  eggs  palatably.  I  know  it  is 
advised  always  to  eat  them  just  as  they  come  from 
the  shell,  but  some  people  just  can't  do  it.  It's 
revolting  to  them,  especially  at  first.  In  such  a 
case  it's  better  to  beat  them  and  combine  them 
with  other  things;  and  so  it  would  be  with  every- 
thing else  on  the  list.  It  could  be  managed,  too, 
that  the  meals  be  eaten  slowly.  An  hour  to  a 
dinner  or  supper  would  not  be  too  much.  It  is 
a  common  matter  to  take  an  hour  or  more  at  din- 
ner at  hotels." 

"  A  hospital  with  a  trained  nurse  in  charge,  is 
also  one  of  the  essentials  of  a  health  camp," 
offered  Fillmore.  "  This  was  demonstrated  at  the 
time  that  young  Latimer  was  stricken  with  the 
hemorrhage,  and  Alford  sick  abed  at  the  same 
time.  It  need  be  nothing  pretentious.  A  build- 
ing like  the  casino,  with  two  or  three  small  rooms 
off  it — an  operating  room,  a  nurse's  room,  and  a 
small  laboratory — would  be  sufficient.  Hemor- 
rhagic cases  in  particular  would  do  much  better 
in  a  hospital  ward  where  a  nurse  could  always  be 
at  hand.  This  applies  also  to  temperature  cases. 
The  tedium  of  lying  in  bed  would  be  greatly  obvi- 
ated in  a  ward  where  there  were  a  number  of 
people." 

"  What  are  young  Latimer's  chances  for  re- 
174 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

covery?  Does  he  make  a  good  patient?  In  pass- 
ing his  tent  yesterday  afternoon,  I  heard  him 
whistling  softly  to  himself,  and  concluded  that  it 
was  about  time  for  him  to  be  getting  impatient; 
he's  stood  it  pretty  well  so  far,  but  time  must 
hang  heavily  on  his  hands,  so  I  got  a  volume  of 
Bret  Harte  and  read  Christmas  at  Sandy  Bar  to 
him.  He  had  been  over  this  ground  with  his 
father  and  Carlyle,  on  trips  to  the  Yosemite  Val- 
ley, and  he  described  to  me  the  long  hill  over 
which  Dick  Bullen  rode  that  Christmas  eve  on  his 
way  to  Sandy  Bar  for  the  toys.  They  camped 
over  night  once  in  a  cluster  of  pines  just  outside 
Sandy  Bar,  and  while  there,  his  father  told  them 
the  story." 

"  He's  sure  getting  impatient,"  replied  Fill- 
more. "  Carlyle'll  have  his  hands  full  pretty 
soon,  keeping  him  in  bed.  He  ought  to  lie  still 
for  some  weeks  longer.  If  some  of  the  girls  that 
used  to  come  here,  would  call  on  him  occasionally, 
he'd  be  more  tractable.  He  has  a  chance  for  pull- 
ing through  if  he  does  the  right  thing,  but  such  an 
occurrence  sets  back  recovery  at  least  a  year.  This 
may  teach  him  to  be  more  careful." 

11  Oh,  he'll  be  careful  enough  now,  for  a  while ! 
Carlyle'll  see  to  that.  The  time  of  greatest  dan- 
ger for  the  consumptive  is  when  he  is  recovering. 
When  he  begins  to  feel  well,  he  thinks  he  is  well, 

*75 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

and  then  he  wants  to  put  the  matter  to  the  test. 
He  begins  with  small  excesses,  and  if  no  harm  re- 
sults, he  increases  them.  The  first  thing  he  knows 
he's  down  again.  Eternal  vigilance  is  the  price 
of  health." 

"  Carlyle'll  keep  him  straight  if  any  one  can." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  envy  him  his  job,"  rejoined 
White. 

"  Carlyle  seems  to  want  to  force  the  issue  and 
keep  him  alive,  even  against  fate.  Percy  is  not 
the  kind  to  take  care  of  himself.  If  he  does  pull 
through,  it  will  be  because  Carlyle  wants  to  keep 
him  bad  enough  to  be  willing  to  make  sacrifices 
to  that  end.  Logically,  it's  young  Latimer's  fate 
to  die,  since  he  hasn't  the  faculty  of  taking  care 
of  himself,"  said  Fillmore. 

"  In  a  world  like  this,  though,  few  could  be 
found  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice." 

14  It's  literally  a  fight  with  death  on  Carlyle's 
part.  He  seems  to  want  to  keep  him  alive  at  any 
cost." 

They  passed  a  tent,  the  only  one  in  sight.  A 
ranch-house  lay  an  eighth  of  a  mile  distant,  across 
two  fields  fenced  with  barbed  wire.  A  solitary 
woman,  a  health-seeker  from  the  East,  was  en- 
camped here  by  the  roadside.  She  got  her  water 
from  an  irrigating  ditch  near  by,  and  the  stage 
brought  her  her  supplies  and  mail.  The  friends 
176 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

in  passing  heaved  a  silent  prayer,  or  what  was 
equivalent  to  it,  for  her  recovery  and  restoration 
to  home  and  kindred. 

White  mused  on  the  difficulties  by  which  some 
people  are  surrounded,  and,  thinking  thus,  a  pic- 
ture of  this  woman's  plight  rose  before  his  mental 
vision.  What  must  have  been  her  state  of  mind 
previously,  to  render  this  mode  of  life  endurable? 
After  a  while  he  spoke : 

"  The  unkindness  that  we  human  beings  permit 
ourselves  toward  one  another,  is  the  most  un- 
accountable thing  in  this  paradoxical  world.  How 
much  better  the  situation  for  each  in  a  Camp  like 
ours  even,  and  it  can  hardly  be  called  a  camp  as 
yet  it  is  such  an  embryonic  affair.  Yet  this  woman 
would  be  much  better  off  there,  than  living  here 
all  alone." 

"  She  probably  did  not  know  what  to  do,  and 
after  worrying  herself  half  sick,  some  ranchman 
or  drayman  may  have  located  her.  I've  heard  of 
such  cases,"  said  Fillmore. 

A  road-runner  directly  in  front  diverted  their 
attention  from  the  subject  in  hand.  They  watched 
him  speeding  along,  wings,  tail  and  feet  working 
in  conjunction  as  if  created  solely  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  swiftly  over  the  ground. 

"  Another  advantage  of  an  organized  camp — 
a  great  one,  is  the  discipline  that  can  be  incul- 
177 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

cated,"  he  continued.  "  This  will  settle  the  ques- 
tion of  spitting  about,  which  some  still  practice  in 
our  Camp.  They  won't  do  it  when  they  find  that 
it  will  mean  dismissal.  Its  importance  can  be  in- 
sisted on  so  strongly  as  to  lead  any  one  to  report 
a  violation  of  it,  as  is  the  case  in  the  sanatoriums. 
When  people  once  fully  comprehend  the  fact  in 
all  its  significance,  that  the  disease  is  perpetuated 
only  through  the  sputum,  and  that  the  sick  are 
in  danger  of  reinfection  by  it,  each  one  will  feel 
like  doing  police  service  in  the  matter." 

Their  way  led  them  for  another  mile  through 
a  sandy  road  bordered  by  greasewood,  which  shut 
in  their  view.  When  their  destination  finally 
emerged  into  view,  on  turning  a  corner,  White 
was  startled  to  find  that  Blakeslee's  tent  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  He  knew  the  exact  location 
where  it  had  been  pitched;  its  removal  seemed 
ominous;  he  felt  a  sudden  constriction  in  the 
throat.  He  knew  that  he  had  not  acted  right 
toward  his  old  partner.  He  had  conditionally 
agreed  to  come  out  to  the  desert  with  him  when 
the  subject  was  first  broached,  but  had  afterward 
changed  his  mind,  fearing  the  loneliness  that  must 
ensue  from  living  so  far  from  others.  He  had 
endeavored  to  dissuade  Blakeslee  from  going  also, 
but  without  avail,  and  he  felt  like  a  delinquent 
thereafter  whenever  he  thought  of  his  part  in  the 

i78 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

affair.  He  had  justified  himself  by  saying  that 
both  were  equally  at  fault,  if  there  was  any  fault; 
that  Blakeslee  should  not  have  persisted  in  going 
out  there  alone  after  he  (White)  had  decided  not 
to  accompany  him;  but  his  arguments  had  not 
been  convincing.  The  disappearance  of  the  tent 
caused  these  misgivings  to  rise  again  with  renewed 
force.  A  presentiment  of  coming  trouble  rose  up 
before  him;  he  drove  on  to  the  ranch-house  in  a 
tumult,  his  heart  knocking  against  his  ribs. 

When  he  found  the  ranchman,  he  asked  a  ques- 
tion and  made  a  statement  all  in  one. 

11 1  see  Blakeslee  has  moved.  Where's  he  gone 
to?" 

The  ranchman  looked  at  him,  but  did  not  im- 
mediately answer.     After  a  little,  he  said: 

"  Won't  you  come  in?    Come  in  and  sit  down." 

The  friends  got  out  of  the  buggy,  and  sat  on 
the  steps  of  the  house.  The  man's  silence  and 
deliberation  seemed  like  a  portent. 

u  You  were  a  friend  of  his  I  think?  I've  seen 
you  here." 

White  nodded.  "  Where's  he  gone  to?  "  His 
voice  was  husky,  his  tongue  parched. 

"  He  died  a  week  ago.    He  had  a  set-back  and 

did  not  come  to  the  packing  house  one  day,  so  I 

went  to  his  tent.    He  located  it  at  a  distance  from 

the  house  so  as  to  be  away  from  irrigated  land. 

179 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

I  found  him  in  bed  with  a  high  temperature.  I 
got  a  friend  to  help  nurse  him,  and  also  sent  for  a 
doctor,  but  he  died  the  next  day.  I  looked  over 
his  letters  so  as  to  get  the  address  of  his  relatives. 
Here  is  one  signed  '  Uncle  James/  and  there  are 
others  from  his  cousins." 

White  recognized  the  handwriting  on  the  en- 
velopes. Blakeslee's  relatives  always  wrote  out 
his  full  name  in  addressing  him,  Mr.  Sandford 
Pinkerton  Blakeslee.  He  mechanically  removed 
one  from  its  cover.  It  was  from  the  cousin  and 
read  as  follows: 

Dear  Sandy: 

Why  don't  you  hurry  and  get  well,  you  bad  boy!  You 
don't  know  what  an  amount  of  enjoyment  you  are  depriving 
me  of  by  your  wilfulness.  There  never  was  such  a  waltzer  as 
you,  at  least  there  never  has  been  one  who  could  keep  step  with 
me  as  you  can.  We  have  all  missed  you  so  much  this  winter 
even  more  than  last.  I  have  gone  out  a  good  deal  more  this 
winter  than  ever  before,  and  am  so  used  up  that  we  have  just 
got  to  go  to  Palm  Beach  to  recuperate.  I  have  two  functions 
on  for  this  evening,  and  here  it  is  already  six,  and  I  am  still  in 
walking  costume.  You'll  excuse  me  from  writing  any  more, 
won't  you,  dear  boy? 

With  oceans  of  cousinly  love, 

Yours, 
Kitty. 

P.  S. — Papa  says  if  I  don't  call  a  halt,  I  may  have  to  go  to 
Arizona  too.      Fancy  me  in  a  tent  with  a  maid ! 

180 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

He  read  another  from  Cousin  Walter: 

Timiskaming,   Ontario. 
Dear  Sandford: 

I  wish  you  might  be  with  us  here  in  the  depths  of  a  Cana- 
dian winter.  Bainbridge  and  Winslow  are  with  me,  and  you 
would  have  filled  up  the  party  nicely.  It's  great  sport.  I 
spend  hours  on  snow-shoes,  and  come  into  Camp  with  a  four- 
story  appetite.  But  snow-shoeing  requires  more  strength  than 
you  could  probably  muster.  I  intended  sending  you  some 
novels,  but  was  so  busy  getting  ready  for  the  trip,  that  it  slipped 
my  mind.  I  trust  Kitty,  who  is  starting  for  Palm  Beach,  will 
have  sent  them. 

Sorry,  old  boy,  that  you  have  to  be  sick.  I  suppose 
you're  lonely  too.  Hurry  up  and  get  well.  We  want  you 
back. 

Then  followed  a  description  of  a  bachelor  sup- 
per given  by  him  at  Sherry's,  the  cost  of  which 
would  have  defrayed  Blakeslee's  expenses  in  Ari- 
zona for  the  past  six  months. 

II  Your  name  is  White,  I  believe,"  offered  their 
host.  "  I  think  you  were  here  with  Blakeslee  when 
he  first  came." 

On  White  answering  in  the  affirmative,  he  pro- 
duced a  water-color  of  the  mountain  which  had 
evidently  been  done  by  Blakeslee.  On  the  back 
had  been  scribbled,  "  For  White." 

"  No  man  ought  to  live  alone  this  way,"  said 
White,  when  they  were  again  in  the  buggy,  as  they 
181 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

drove  by  the  place  where  Blakeslee  had  camped. 
"  They  eat  out  their  hearts  in  loneliness  and 
homesickness.  Had  Blakeslee  lived  in  a  Camp 
like  ours,  he  would  have  had  a  good  chance  for 
recovery." 

The  afternoon  was  wearing  to  its  close.  The 
shadow  of  the  mountain  lay  across  their  path.  It 
began  to  grow  chill. 

When  they  reached  Camp  again,  the  drive 
thither  having  been  made  almost  in  silence,  the 
others,  who  knew  where  they  had  been,  made  no 
inquiries  in  regard  to  Blakeslee.  They  divined 
the  truth  from  the  reticence  of  White  and  Fill- 
more, and  the  subject  was  not  alluded  to  in  the 
Camp. 


182 


CHAPTER   XI 

"  TJ  OW'S  your  book  getting  on,  White?  " 

O  "  I'm    only    in    the    fourth    Chapter, 

and  have  come  to  a  standstill." 

11  How's  that?  I  thought  you'd  have  it  most 
done  by  this  time." 

The  first  speaker  was  a  friend  of  White's  whom 
he  had  known  in  boyhood.  Later  his  family  had 
moved  to  another  city,  and  White  had  not  seen 
him  again  until  they  met  in  Arizona.  His  name 
was  Robert  Fullerton.  He  was  the  senior  by 
several  years,  White's  precocity  having  led  him 
generally  to  associate  with  boys  older  than  him- 
self. He  had  come  to  the  territory  some  years 
previously,  and  was  engaged  in  mining.  He  lived 
at  a  camp  some  thirty  miles  in  the  interior,  mak- 
ing periodic  visits  to  town  and  usually  looked  up 
White  on  these  occasions.  They  chanced  to  meet 
that  morning,  and  Fullerton,  intending  to  stay  a 
day  or  two  in  town  had  agreed  to  return  to  the 
Camp  with  White  for  the  day.  They  were  walk- 
ing about  town  now  seeing  the  sights,  which  never 
failed  to  interest  the  miner. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  Miners  are  usually 
183 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

laconic.  They  spend  so  much  of  their  time  alone 
that  speech,  even  when  they  have  the  opportunity 
of  exercising  it,  seems  something  too  precious  to 
be  used  lightly.  They  make  good  listeners.  Ful- 
lerton  enjoyed  these  confabs,  but  not  more  so  than 
White,  to  whom  an  audience  was  one  of  the  essen- 
tials of  life.     "  What's  the  trouble?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  kill  the  villain,  really 
one  of  my  strongest  characters,  or  let  him  live 
and  make  a  hero  out  of  him.  He's  good  stuff  all 
right  but  he  won't  do  for  the  part  he's  cast  for." 

"  It's  the  low-down  town-sharp  you  described 
when  telling  me  about  the  book  the  last  time  I 
saw  you,  isn't  it?  He  was  too  no-account  to  cast 
a  shadow  you  said.  You  were  going  to  lam  him 
most  generous." 

Fullerton,  who  had  read  a  great  deal  and  was  a 
man  of  some  education  (there  were  several  col- 
lege men  in  his  Camp)  was  wont  to  adopt  the 
picturesque  style  of  language  usually  put  into  the 
mouths  of  cow-boys  and  miners  in  the  books  on 
the  Southwest  he  met  with,  when  talking  to  East- 
ern people.  It  pleased  them,  they  evidently  ex- 
pected it,  and  he  took  pleasure  in  the  thought  that 
he  was  able  thus  to  contribute  to  their  enjoyment. 
He  liked  too,  to  exercise  his  wits  in  this  way;  it 
showed  versatility.  In  his  thoughts,  and  out  at 
the  Camp  among  his  fellows,  the  language  seemed 
184 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

no  different  from  that  in  use  everywhere  in  the 
East.  He  learned  from  his  books  on  the  West 
how  to  make  his  speech  lurid,  so  as  to  come  up 
to  the  expectations  that  he  felt  were  formed  of 
him  by  the  tourists  and  invalids.  His  sense  of 
humor  was  a  well-developed  one,  although  not 
readily  apparent  to  others  at  the  beginning.  That 
White  was  often  in  doubt  whether  or  not  to  take 
him  seriously  for  the  time  being,  will  indicate  how 
well  he  performed  his  self-imposed  task. 

"  You  were  drawing  the  character  from  life?  " 

White  nodded  an  affirmative.  "  The  story  was 
to  have  been  written  around  some  one  I  know,  and 
was  in  fact,  inspired  by  him.  He  was  to  have 
been  a  bigamist,"  went  on  White,  warming  up  to 
his  theme,  "  and  his  position  becoming  untenable, 
was  to  rob  his  grandmother  of  her  all,  fasten  the 
crime  on  one  of  the  family,  forge  some  checks,  and 
flee  to  Arizona  hiding  in  a  lunger's  camp,  where 
he  was  to  pretend  to  be  an  invalid. " 

11  And  you,  as  the  hero,  were  going  to  show  him 
up  some?  " 

White  gave  a  qualified  assent  to  this  proposi- 
tion. "  He  was  a  good,  strong  character.  I'll 
have  to  try  and  change  it  to  a  Mexican  bandit 
story,"  continued  White,  looking  toward  the 
South,  where  the  mountains  of  Mexico  lay  bathed 
in  sunshine. 

i85 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  He  was  sure  an  out  and  outer.  But  why 
can't  you  go  on  with  it  ?  You've  been  mistaken  in 
his  play?  " 

"  He's  come  to  the  end  of  his  usefulness  as  a 
villain,"  replied  White  with  simulated  plaintive- 
ness.  "  I  can't  do  anything  with  him  on  this  line. 
He's  disappointed  me.     He  just  won't  do." 

"  These  city  scouts  sometimes  are  all  right,  but 
you've  got  to  watch  'em  on  the  start  until  you 
know  their  play.  I've  never  had  much  to  do  with 
them  myself,  but  some  of  'em  seem  decent  enough 
chaps.  There  was  one  here  all  last  winter,  a 
lunger,  dealing  faro.  Never  let  his  sister  back 
East  know  he  was  sick  even;  he  was  sending  her 
money  to  live  on  and  didn't  want  her  to  worry. 
She  got  some  money  ahead  and  toward  spring, 
came  out  here  to  surprise  him  with  a  visit.  She 
hadn't  seen  him  since  he  left  for  California,  three 
years  before." 

"  He  was  surprised,  I'll  bet!  " 

"  Both  of  'em  were ;  and  the  worst  of  it  was  he 
was  about  all  in  when  she  got  here.  The  close 
confinement  and  bad  air  had  been  telling  on  him, 
and  he  only  lived  a  few  weeks  longer.  He  had 
a  life  insurance  of  a  thousand  or  two  which  he 
left  her.  When  he  received  her  telegram  ask- 
ing him  to  meet  her  on  arrival  of  the  train,  he 
gave  up  his  job,  so  as  to  prevent  her  learning  of 
186 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  work  he  was  doing,  and  made  arrangements 
to  leave  town  with  her  the  same  day,  saying  the 
doctor  had  advised  a  change  of  climate.  He  took 
her  to  Tucson  where  he  wasn't  known.  He  died 
there." 

A  group  of  Indians  slouched  along  by  them, 
the  bucks  wearing  their  hair  in  long  braids  down 
their  backs,  the  squaws  smartened  with  bits  of 
bright  color  on  their  faces  arranged  in  geometrical 
lines  on  the  cheek,  from  the  mouth  half-way  to 
the  ear.  The  Arizona  squaw  doesn't  spend  much 
money  on  clothes,  but  when  it  comes  to  paint,  she 
understands  its  decorative  value  as  much  as  does 
her  civilized  sister,  however  differently  she  applies 
it.  White  stooped  to  pat  an  urchin,  but  the  child, 
divining  his  intention,  slid  adroitly  to  the  other 
side  out  of  reach,  with  the  instinct  of  the  wild 
thing  to  fight  shy  of  man. 

"  Going  back  East  this  summer?  You  haven't 
been  East  since  you  first  came  here,  have  you? 
Seems  to  me  you  don't  go  much  on  the  mother, 
home  and  heaven  question." 

44  No,"  responded  White,  "  I'm  going  to  try 
to  stand  it  here  again  this  summer." 

44  It's  hotter  than  Tophet  down  here  in  the  val- 
ley in  July  and  August.  Better  go  up  to  Prescott 
again."  Fullerton  spoke  from  an  extended  ex- 
perience. 

i87 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

"  I'd  like  to  go  to  California,"  said  White  wist- 
fully, "  but  it  is  so  far.  You  can  camp  there  in 
summer  much  better  than  here,  as  there's  no 
rain  or  dew  to  contend  with.  It's  cooler  too. 
California's  the  lunger's  paradise  in  summer." 

Fullerton  was  immediately  interested.  "  That's 
so.  California  would  be  the  place.  The  Ojai 
Valley  say,  somewhere  near  Nordhoff.  I  camped 
there  for  a  few  weeks  one  summer." 

"  Rather  too  near  the  coast  for  me,"  objected 
White.  "  Or  for  any  invalid  for  that  matter. 
The  fogs  come  in  from  the  ocean  and  make  it 
damp.     Dry  air's  the  thing." 

"  I've  prospected  some  over  the  Mojave  desert 
but  you  might  as  well  stay  here  as  to  go  there. 
It's  sure  hot  on  the  Mojave." 

"  The  Santa  Clara  Valley,  or  even  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley,  would  be  best,"  remarked  White. 
"  It  may  be  hot  right  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
there,  but  it's  pleasant  enough  at  all  other  times. 
And  the  nights  are  a  delight." 

They  were  walking  along  the  main  street.  As 
they  passed  a  department  store  Fullerton  paused 
and  said: 

"  I've  got  to  get  something  here.  If  you've 
anything  else  to  attend  to,  I'll  meet  you  some- 
where." 

White,  noticing  Fullerton's  evident  desire  to 
188 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

get  rid  of  him,  assured  him  that  he  had  attended 
to  all  his  matters  before  meeting  him,  that  he 
was  in  no  hurry,  and  that  he  could  give  him  all 
his  time  for  the  rest  of  the  day  if  need  be.  So 
they  entered  the  store  together. 

A  round-up  of  the  articles  required  was  effected 
by  the  aid  of  the  floor-walker,  but  they  were  not 
such  as  miners  usually  take  with  them  into  the 
desert.  Germantown  wool,  cretonne,  sewing-silk 
in  two  colors  to  match  samples — "  What  in  thun- 
der," thought  White,  "  can  he  want  with  this 
gear?"  He  felt  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  an 
interesting  disclosure.  When  they  came  out,  the 
miner  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  wiped  the  perspira- 
tion from  a  clammy  brow  and  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain. 

11  Berkely's  sister  is  at  the  Camp.  You  met  him 
once  in  town  here  with  me." 

White  nodded.  Then  he  said  interrogatively, 
"Lungs?" 

"  Yes.  She  was  in  a  bad  way,  and  had  to  come 
out  at  once  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  travel.  She 
had  an  attack  of  pneumonia." 

u  But  she's  the  only  woman  in  the  Camp,  isn't 
she?    How  many  men  are  there?  " 

"  About  a  dozen,"  he  replied,  answering  the 
easiest  question  first.  u  She  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  Camp  when  she  came,  and  we  had  to  ship 
189 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

one  in  order  to  be  able  to  say  that  much  even; 
but  there  are  several  there  now,  and  they're  all 
right  too." 

"  The  plot  thickens,"  said  White.  "  Tell  me 
about  it." 

"  Well,  it  was  this  way.  One  of  the  boys,  Mid- 
dleton,  had  a  woman  in  his  cabin  that  he  wasn't 
married  to.  As  soon  as  we  heard  that  Miss 
Berkely  was  coming  out,  we  told  him  that  she 
would  have  to  vamose,  get  absent,  hit  the  trail 
back." 

"  Wasn't  that  the  '  Gazelle  '  you  told  me  about 
once  ?  " 

"  The  same.  She  was  a  Mexican,  but  that  was 
her  name  when  Middleton  got  her.  It  must  have 
been  ladled  out  to  her  by  an  earlier  admirer," 
said  Fullerton,  lapsing  into  facetiousness.  "  She's 
some  too  stout  now  to  fit  the  part.  It  wasn't  any 
of  our  concern  before,  but  when  we  knew  that  a 
sure  good  woman  was  coming  to  the  Camp,  we 
made  things  plain  to  him  right  away,  you  bet!  " 

"  Didn't  he  put  up  a  kick?  " 

"Kick?  No!  he  didn't  kick,  not  a  little  bit. 
He  knew  what  he  was  up  against.  Kicking  would 
have  helped  him  none.  He  knew  the  temper  of 
the  boys.  You  see  they  were  all  in  love  with 
Berkely's  sister,  long  before  we  knew  she  was 
coming,  just  from  seeing  her  picture.  We  had 
190 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

got  into  the  habit  of  going  into  his  tent  evenings 
to  pass  the  time,  slinging  yarns,  the  boys  called 
it.  There  were  three  photos  of  her,  each  differ- 
ent.    We  never  could  tell  which  we  liked  best." 

In  the  interest  which  the  subject  evoked,  he 
was  becoming  loquacious.  It  was  as  if  the  femi- 
ninity which  had  of  late  come  into  his  life  had 
acted  as  a  lubricant  to  his  speech. 

11  Middleton  didn't  kick,"  continued  Fullerton, 
"  but  he  tried  to  compromise — asked  us  if  it  would 
be  all  right  if  he'd  marry  the  woman,  but  we  told 

him  No !  by fifty  marriages  wouldn't  make 

her  fit  to  associate  with  Miss  Berkely.  We 
wouldn't  stand  for  it  no  how." 

"And  then?" 

11  Then  he  said  as  long  as  the  boys  were  going 
to  make  a  Sunday-school  out  of  the  Camp,  they 
had  better  buy  his  shares  and  he  would  get  out. 
He  acted  white  by  his  Gazelle  all  right;  he's  a 
sure  man  all  through." 

"Which  they  did,  I  suppose?" 

M  You  bet !  And  it  didn't  take  them  long  to 
make  up  their  minds  either.  We  made  him  a  good 
offer,  which  he  promptly  accepted.  It  took  a  few 
days  to  raise  the  money,  after  which  he  and  the 
Gazelle  hit  the  trail  for  town.  When  he  left,  he 
said  that  he  would  like  to  do  something  for  the 
Camp  in  recognition  of  the  many  pleasant  hours 
191 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

he  had  spent  there,  and  that  if  we  would  agree 
to  set  up  a  gospel-shop  he  would  leave  his  tent 
and  furniture  as  a  home  for  the  sky-scout.  He 
has  written  several  times  since,  offering  sugges- 
tions for  the  '  work  '  as  he  calls  it." 

Fullerton  began  fumbling  in  his  pockets  and 
finally  produced  a  letter  which  he  handed  to  his 
friend.     It  was  as  follows: 

Cananea,   Feb.  12th,  19 — 
To  Robr.   Fullerton,   Esq^, 

Bowlegs  Mine,  Arizona. 
Friend  Fullerton:  I  am  somewhat  disappointed,  but  not 
surprised,  that  the  friendly  interest  I  take  in  Old  Camp  Bow- 
legs, the  scene  of  my  early  struggles,  should  be  so  little  appreci- 
ated. I  shall  not  let  this  discourage  me  however.  When  I 
get  a  new  idea,  I'll  write  you  about  it,  even  though  I  get  no 
response.  In  my  last  letter  I  asked  you  to  get  a  kodak  and 
send  me  some  pictures  of  the  Camp  as  it  now  appears.  How's 
the  Sunday-school  getting  along  ?  If  started,  you  can  draw  on 
me  for  #100  to  boost  it  along. 

Always  your  friend  and  well-wisher, 

M. 

"It's  a  cooperative  company,  isn't  it?"  was 
White's  next  remark. 

"  In  a  measure,  yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  Al- 
though all  the  members  of  the  Camp  are  not 
stockholders,  each  shares  to  some  extent  in  the 
profits  above  the  wages  paid.  Should  one  be  dis- 
satisfied and  want  to  leave,  as  in  the  case  of  Mid- 
192 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

dleton,  the  others  buy  him  out.  The  Camp  would 
forge  ahead  if  we'd  take  in  outside  capital  to 
develop  it,  but  we're  doing  well  enough  as  it  is." 

"  Didn't  you  say  there  were  other  women  in 
the  Camp?" 

"  Yes.  It  seemed  to  us  that  it  would  be  play- 
ing it  pretty  low-down  mean  on  a  fine  girl  like 
Miss  Berkely  to  expect  her  to  live  in  a  miner's 
Camp  thirty  miles  from  town  and  be  the  only 
woman  there,  so  we  held  a  meeting  after  we  got 
Middleton's  matter  off  our  hands  to  see  what 
could  be  done." 

White  looked  his  approval. 

"  You  see,  Berkely  was  not  there  to  see  our 
play,  so  we  were  free  to  act  as  we  saw  fit.  As 
soon  as  he  got  his  sister's  letter  he  telegraphed 
her  to  start  at  once,  and  he  would  meet  her  in 
Chicago.  From  the  time  he  left,  all  work  on  the 
mine  was  stopped  until  we  got  things  rounded  up 
for  her  arrival." 

11  He's  a  civil  engineer,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he's  done  more  for  the  Camp  than 
any  one  there.  He  might  have  owned  it  all,  in- 
stead of  making  it  cooperative  if  he  had  wanted 
to  play  a  smart  game." 

White  knew  the  circumstances  of  the  inception  of 
the  Bowlegs  mine.  Fullerton  had  told  him  the 
story  on  a  previous  occasion;  how  two  others  be- 
193 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

sides  Berkely  and  himself  had  been  working  at  the 
Tomcat  mine  on  wages ;  how  they  had  made  several 
prospecting  trips  by  ones  and  twos;  how  the  four 
had  from  the  start  decided  to  pool  their  issues, 
saying  this  would  be  the  squarest  way  to  play  the 
game ;  how  finally  two  were  maintained  in  the  field 
prospecting,  alternating  with  two  that  remained 
at  work,  the  wages  of  the  two  who  worked,  having 
been  sufficient  to  keep  the  four.  He  remembered 
too,  the  circumstances  of  the  strike;  how  just  be- 
fore, meeting  with  no  success,  they  had  practically 
dissolved  the  pool,  against  Berkely's  wishes,  upon 
which  he  had  decided  to  go  back  East.  He  re- 
membered the  particularity  with  which  Fullerton 
had  told  him  how  Berkely,  while  packing,  had 
bethought  him  of  a  spot  that  had  on  a  previous 
prospecting  trip  looked  promising,  but  had  been 
passed  over  with  a  cursory  examination,  his  part- 
ner having  seen  something  elsewhere  that  seemed 
better.  On  leaving,  he  had  resolved  to  come 
again  and  look  over  the  ground  more  thoroughly, 
but  had  not  done  so;  and  this  unkept  resolution 
had  recurred  to  him  while  packing  his  trunk.  He 
felt  impelled  to  give  the  place  the  "  try  "  that  was 
coming  to  it,  Fullerton  had  said,  and,  obeying  an 
irresistible  impulse,  had  dropped  his  packing  and 
started  out  on  the  desert  alone  with  only  his  pack 
mule  and  an  Indian  boy. 
194 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Of  his  find,  of  how  he  at  once  went  through  the 
legal  formalities  which  made  him  sole  owner,  of 
how,  on  his  return  to  Camp,  he  brought  with  him 
the  papers  making  the  three  others  equal  partners 
with  him  in  the  mine,  the  same  as  if  the  pool  had 
not  been  dissolved,  saying  there  would  be  enough 
for  all — of  this  Fullerton  had  also  spoken. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  yet  about  the  other 
women.     How  did  you  manage  that?" 

"  I'm  coming  to  it.  When  I  raised  the  question 
about  how  to  get  any  respectable  women  to  come 
to  the  Camp  it  was  a  poser  you  bet.  We  felt 
that  we  were  up  against  it  for  sure  this  time. 

"  '  Ain't  any  of  you  fellows  got  sisters  that 
could  be  induced  to  come  out?'  said  I  after  we 
had  been  discussing  the  matter  a  full  half-hour. 
*  We  could  let  them  share  equally  in  the  profits.' 
I  waited  for  a  response  but  it  wasn't  forthcoming. 
After  a  while  Dick  Wales  spoke  up.  You  don't 
know  Dick,  do  you  ?  " 

White  shook  his  head. 

"  He's  a  Columbia  man.  He  came  here  for 
his  health  a  year  or  two  after  graduating.  He 
had  been  in  a  sanatorium  in  the  East,  and  came 
here  to  hustle  the  case  along.  That's  Dick  all 
through.  He's  so  well  cured  now  that  he  some- 
times forgets  he  ever  was  a  lunger.  He  could 
live  in  the  East  if  he  wanted  to,  but  he  has  a 
195 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

good  thing  in  the  mine,  and,  anyway,  he  likes  the 
life." 

"  And  Dick  had  ready  counsel,  I  suppose," 
offered  White. 

"  Not  at  first.  He  said  it  was  a  proposition 
that  he  wouldn't  want  to  put  to  his  sister,  she  not 
being  an  idiot;  that  no  woman  would  be  willing 
to  get  very  far  from  a  department  store,  and  that 
while  his  sister  always  signed  her  letters  *  Yours 
lovingly,'  or  '  Yours  affectionately,'  he  wouldn't 
test  her  love  and  affection  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
ask  her  to  come  to  a  camp  like  Bowlegs,  thirty 
miles  from  anywhere.  The  proposition  didn't 
meet  with  much  favor  from  any  quarter,  and  we 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  Then  Dick  took  the 
floor  in  parliamentary  style.  He  likes  his  little 
joke,  and  somehow,  I  began  to  feel  uncomfortable 
as  soon  as  he  got  up.  ■  Why  can't  some  of  you 
fellows  marry?  '  was  his  remark.  Then  he  looked 
straight  at  me  and  said :  *  I  propose  that  our  hon- 
orable Chairman,  who  is  older  and  wiser  than 
most  of  us  here,  and  who  started  the  discussion 
in  the  first  place,  set  us  an  example  and  be  the  first 
to  put  his  head  in  the  noose.'  " 

11  People  don't  marry  out  of  hand  this  way," 
said  Fullerton  retrospectively.  "  It's  a  proposi- 
tion that  both  sides  ought  to  consider  well  first." 

"  That's  so,"  murmured  White. 
196 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Fullerton  continued :  "  There  was  harder  buck- 
ing and  more  of  it,  more  rearing  and  pawing  on 
the  marrying  proposition  than  on  the  first  one. 
After  it  had  lasted  a  while,  Dick  began  to  get 
sensible.  *  There  are  many  women,'  he  said,  *  that 
come  here  for  their  health  in  the  same  way  that 
Berkely's  sister  is  coming.  You  can  see  them 
camping  all  alone  along  the  roadsides  near  town. 
I  suppose  many  of  them  are  scant  of  money,  too. 
We  might  get  a  few  of  them  to  come  out  here 
and  live  in  the  Camp.  They'd  probably  be  glad 
of  the  opportunity.  Berkely  is  well  known  in 
town,  and  his  sister's  presence  in  Camp  will  make 
it  all  right  for  the  others.  They  can  stay  here 
free  of  charge,  and  we  can  get  a  Chinaman  to  cook 
for  them.  I  know  of  a  young  doctor  too  who 
would  come  under  the  circumstances.'  " 

"  Compared  with  the  other  proposition,  this  one 
of  Dick's  was  a  stroke  of  genius,"  commended 
White.  "  There  are  lots  of  women  that  would 
be  glad  of  the  chance.  Did  you  have  everything 
in  good  shape  when  Berkely  came  with  his  sister?  " 

"  He  left  her  in  town  with  some  friends  and 
came  alone.  He  didn't  know  anything  about  what 
we  had  done,  and  thought  he  had  better  trail  on 
ahead  and  reconnoitre." 

"  He  was  surprised,  I  bet,"  said  White,  think- 
ing that  he  would  like  to  go  there  himself  on  a 
197 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

visit.  His  friend  had  several  times  asked  him 
to  visit  the  Camp,  but  heretofore  White  had  ex- 
cused himself  on  the  ground  of  the  hardship  of 
the  trip. 

"  You  can  bet  he  was  surprised.  We  had 
changed  the  Camp  so  that  he  didn't  know  it.  We 
held  all  the  cards  and  did  the  thing  up  right! 
We  had  put  up  five  new  tent-houses  in  a  group, 
near  Berkely's  tent.  One  of  these  is  used  as  a 
kitchen.  The  dining-room  is  out  of  doors,  with 
a  fly  overhead  for  protection  from  the  sun.  Dick 
had  gone  into  town,  and  brought  the  young  doctor 
along  with  him.  He  is  a  lunger  himself  and 
knew  all  the  ropes.  The  tent-houses  for  the  ladies 
are  furnished  with  everything  that  a  sure  enough 
lady  would  want,  even  to  rocking-chairs  and  strips 
of  carpet  before  the  beds.  We  bought  china 
dishes  for  them  to  eat  out  of,  and  silver  spoons 
and  forks,  and  there  are  books  and  magazines 
a-plenty.  Dick  attended  to  it  mostly,  and  he  did 
it  up  slick,  you  bet!  He's  a  hustler  from  way 
back." 

"  Then  they  all  came  out  together?  " 
"  No,  Berkely  went  back  to  town  the  next  day. 
He  and  his  sister  called  on  the  ladies  who  had 
arranged  to  come.  They  were  not  quite  ready  to 
go  yet,  however,  and  as  Berkely  was  needed  at 
the  mine,  he  returned  the  following  day,  taking 
198 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

his  sister  with  him.  The  others  came  on  a  few 
days  later  with  the  physician.  They  are  feeling 
so  well  now  that  they  are  doing  some  work.  Two 
of  them  are  occupying  one  tent,  and  the  one  that 
was  vacated  is  fitted  up  with  a  cook-stove  and 
some  utensils,  and  they  make  desserts  for  the  boys. 
Say !  they  make  apple  pie  and  doughnuts  like  they 
do  in  New  England!  If  you'd  eaten  Chinaman's 
apple  pie  for  eight  years  as  I  have,  you'd  know 
what  that  means.  That  apple  pie  and  those 
doughnuts  alone  more  than  compensate  us  for  the 
added  expense  of  the  Camp.  The  boys  have 
started  a  little  garden  and  have  lettuce  and  radishes 
growing.    We're  living  high  I  " 

"  We'll  come  out  and  visit  you  before  we  break 
Camp,"  said  White.  "  We'll  bring  our  blankets 
and  sleep  on  the  hay." 


199 


CHAPTER   XII 

FOLLOWING  close  on  Fullerton's  visit, 
White  and  Fillmore  started  early  one 
morning  in  a  mountain  wagon  drawn  by  a  team 
of  bronchos,  to  pay  their  proposed  visit  to  Camp 
Bowlegs. 

The  season  was  well  advanced.  The  yearly 
celebration  of  Nature  had  come  round  again.  It 
was  late  in  May,  and  in  May  this  land  blossoms 
as  the  rose.  A  pageantry  of  flowers,  a  very  riot 
of  blossoming,  accompanied  the  travelers  on  their 
way,  as  if  they  had  been  making  a  royal  progress. 
The  very  ditches  along  the  roadsides,  decked  out 
in  masses  of  blooms,  proclaimed  the  exuberance  of 
Nature.  In  the  irrigated  fields  the  upspringing 
alfalfa  was  in  blossom  and  ready  to  cut.  Stands 
of  bees  with  hives  numbering  into  the  hundreds 
were  to  be  seen  here  and  there,  under  the  shade 
of  the  cottonwoods,  on  the  edges  of  fields  con- 
venient to  the  alfalfa  blossoms. 

"  How  did  they  come  to  give  the  Camp  such  a 
name  as  '  Bowlegs  '  ?  "  asked  Fillmore. 

"  Berkely  discovered  the  mine  and  named  it 
200 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

after  one  of  his  partners,"  was  the  reply.  "  He 
is  a  civil  engineer,  and  he  had  a  partner  in  the 
same  profession  who  was  known  as  Billy  Bowlegs. 
Billy  is  as  straight  on  his  legs  as  any  one  in  Camp, 
but  he  had  been  nick-named  that  some  time  before 
and  the  name  stuck  to  him.  Fullerton  told  me 
the  circumstances." 

"  Let's  have  the  story  if  there  is  one,"  proposed 
Fillmore. 

"There  isn't  much  of  one,  but  I'll  tell  it,  just 
as  it  was  told  me  by  Fullerton.  Billy  is  an  Eng- 
lishman, and  when  he  came  to  Arizona  was 
probably  no  more  of  a  fool  than  Easterners  gen- 
erally are  on  arriving.  He's  a  man  of  good  ap- 
pearance, and  his  manners  are  all  right  too,  but 
this  is  owing  to  his  Arizona  acquaintances,  who 
took  him  in  hand  and  exhibited  a  friendly  interest 
in  him  from  the  start.  He  had  strolled  into  a 
miner's  outfitting  store  one  day,  and,  while  wait- 
ing to  be  attended  to,  learned  from  the  talk  of  two 
miners  who  were  making  some  purchases  that 
they  intended  starting  on  a  prospecting  trip  the 
following  day.  The  young  Englishman,  out  for 
adventure,  entered  into  conversation  with  them 
and  proposed  joining  them  on  their  trip. 

"  His  education  began  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, when,  a  mile  or  two  out,  they  asked  him  his 
name. 

201 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  Billy  produced  his  card  containing  a  hyphen- 
ated surname  something  like  '  Elwood-Cholmon- 
delay.'  His  given  names  I  forget,  but  they  were 
also  formidable, — '  Hugh  Edward  de  Carteret,' 
or  something  that  sounded  as  if  taken  from  a 
novel.  In  addition,  there  were  cabalistic  letters 
denoting  the  societies  he  belonged  to  in  London 
and  Paris.  It  was  a  critical  hour  for  Billy,  but 
he  didn't  know  it. 

"  '  I  ain't  got  no  cards,  stranger,'  said  the  other 
gravely,  *  left  'em  in  my  trunk  back  in  town.  My 
name's  Lispenard  Stewart  Boggs,  and  my  partner 
here  is  a  Knickerbocker.  We  come  from  good  old 
Dutch  stock  you  bet.  But  out  on  the  desert  we 
drop  the  frills  and  I'm  Boggs,  just  Boggs,  and 
my  partner  here  is  called  Nick.  You're  going 
to  be  Billy  Bowlegs.  We  can't  have  no  hyphen- 
ated surnames  in  this  outfit.  It  wouldn't  do;  it 
would  hurt  us  with  the  boys.'  The  disciplinary 
process  must  have  extended  much  further,  as 
there's  nothing  now  to  distinguish  him  from  the 
others.  He  tells  the  story  on  himself  once  in  a 
while." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  but  what  his  present  name 
is  more  convenient  to  have  around  a  mining  camp. 
The  other  would  sure  have  been  a  handicap," 
commented  Fillmore. 

"  Billy   and   Berkely,   while   prospecting,   were 

202 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

over  the  ground  together  where  the  mine  is,  al- 
though it  was  not  discovered  on  that  trip." 

"  How  did  it  come  about?  " 

"  They  did  not  examine  it  thoroughly  the  first 
time.  There  were  good  indications,  but  they  had 
been  deceived  by  similar  conditions  elsewhere,  and 
they  had  heard  stories  about  prospects  in  another 
quarter  which  seemed  so  promising  that  they  felt 
they  were  losing  time  remaining.  After  they  had 
returned  to  Camp,  the  trip  having  proven  fruit- 
less, Berkely  was  impelled  to  go  there  a  second 
time,  and  then  made  the  strike.  Each  member 
works  in  some  capacity  in  the  mine,  and  can  hold 
only  a  pro  rata  of  the  stock.  On  the  death  of 
any  stockholder  his  stock  lapses.  Some  meet  this 
by  life  insurance.  If  a  stockholder  becomes  dis- 
satisfied, the  others  buy  him  out.  As  the  stock 
cost  them  nothing  in  the  first  place,  they  were 
quite  willing  to  make  the  arrangement,  although 
at  first  sight  it  must  appear  rather  fantastic  to  a 
practical  man. 

u  They  employ  others,  giving  them  a  share  in 
the  profits,  which  pays  them  well.  On  the  death 
or  retirement  of  the  last  stockholder,  which  will 
take  a  long  while  yet,  as  they  are  mostly  young 
men,  the  mine  if  not  worked  out  passes  to  trustees, 
to  be  used  in  humanitarian  work." 

They  were  passing  through  pastoral  scenes 
203 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

which  seemed  to  suggest  an  old  civilization.  It 
seemed  hard  to  believe  that  only  a  generation 
ago  this  was  desert  land  over  which  the  Indians 
roamed  in  freedom.  Peace  and  plenty  seemed 
written  large  here.  The  ranch-houses,  with  their 
abundance  of  shade,  their  dairies,  their  fruit 
orchards,  their  orange  or  olive  groves,  bespoke 
the  means  for  comfortable  living.  They  passed 
some  eucalyptus  trees,  the  variety  of  which  indi- 
cated their  foreign  origin. 

"  How  much  better  off  these  people  are  than 
if  they  lived  in  cities,"  moralized  White.  u  Com- 
pare their  mode  of  living  with  that  of  the  average 
business  man  and  his  continual  rush  and  hurry: 
These  people  have  time  to  live." 

11  Yes,"  assented  Fillmore,  "  the  tendency  of 
the  average  business  man  is  to  overwork  himself, 
with  the  object  before  him  of  getting  more  money 
than  he  can  ever  use." 

"  Business,"  observed  White,  in  his  favorite 
role  of  cynic,  "  as  a  general  thing,  consists  in 
gouging  your  neighbor  all  he  will  stand.  The 
relation  of  a  business  man  to  his  customer  is  that 
of  a  hunter  and  his  prey." 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you  at  all,"  rejoined  Fill- 
more. "  Without  business,  the  race  might  perish 
from  off  the  earth.  Of  course  this  is  true  of  farm- 
ing too,  which  is  also  a  kind  of  business.  The 
204 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

occupation  most  frequently  mentioned  by  the  Ro- 
mans, outside  of  politics,  is  farming.  In  a  better 
state  of  society,  to  which  I  believe  we  are  progress- 
ing, those  professions  which  deal  with  human  in- 
firmity, physical  or  mental,  such  as  medicine  and 
the  law,  which  are  now  needed  because  of  the 
ignorance  and  selfishness  of  mankind,  will  become 
superfluous  for  the  most  part.  But  farming  and 
mercantile  business  will  always  be  necessary  and 
on  that  account  will  always  carry  a  dignity  with 
them  unknown  to  most  other  occupations." 

"  To  spend  the  greater  part  of  your  life  getting 
your  living,  which  Thoreau  reprobated  so  much, 
seems  to  be  peculiarly  the  fate  of  the  business 
man.  More  business  men  lose  health  through 
their  occupation  than  in  any  other  walk  in  life," 
affirmed  White. 

"  It's  a  fault  of  the  times;  there's  too  much 
competition,"  assented  Fillmore.  "  People  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  health  bears  a  more  intimate 
relation  to  all  the  affairs  of  life  than  money.  If 
people  were  to  show  the  same  anxiety  for  health 
that  they  do  for  money,  the  race  would  greatly 
improve,  morally  and  physically,  in  one  genera- 
tion." 

Their  road  hitherto  had  led  them  through  a 
fine  ranch  country,  but  now,  the  last  irrigation 
ditch  have  been  passed  and  the  higher  land 
205 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

reached,  above  the  ditches,  to  which  water  could 
not  flow,  they  were  on  the  desert.  Threading 
their  way  in  among  hillocks  and  mountains,  gradu- 
ally ascending,  they  soon  left  all  vestige  of  civili- 
zation behind,  except  the  roadway,  kept  open  by 
the  occupants  of  the  mining  camps  on  the  way. 
Henceforth,  until  they  returned,  there  would  be 
no  sign  of  cultivated  growth.  Cacti,  greasewood, 
sagebrush — of  the  desert  kind,  there  would  be 
a-plenty,  but  not  so  much  as  a  blade  of  grass  to 
tell  of  the  presence  of  man. 

They  noticed  many  beautiful  little  valleys,  sun- 
kissed — sheltered  by  bulwarks  of  mountains  from 
the  cold  winds  of  the  North — which  would  make 
ideal  sites  for  health  camps.  They  would  be  un- 
inhabitable in  summer,  but  for  the  winter  nothing 
could  be  finer.  As  they  entered  one  such,  Fillmore 
remarked : 

"  This  could  be  made  a  lungers'  paradise  in 
winter.  Almost  surrounded  by  mountains,  there 
would  be  little  wind,  which  is  the  only  drawback 
we  have." 

"  I'd  rather  be  near  town,"  White  remarked, 
"  and  put  up  with  a  few  wind-storms  during  a 
winter." 

"  Yes,  but  if  the  government  would  take  hold 
of  the  work,  such  a  valley  as  this  would  accommo- 
date several  thousands,  which  would  make  a  town 
206 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  itself.  It  may  sound  visionary,  but  that  is  what 
will  eventually  have  to  be  done.  The  individual 
will  take  the  initiative  in  the  work,  and  when  pub- 
lic opinion  is  sufficiently  aroused  to  the  importance 
of  it,  the  government  will  take  hold  and  com- 
plete it." 

"  These  little  valleys,"  said  the  volatile  White, 
"  which  will  probably  forever  remain  worthless  for 
farming  purposes,  used  as  health  camps  might  be 
the  means  of  saving  thousands  of  lives  annually." 

"  A  trolley  road  will  have  to  be  built  to  connect 
them  with  one  another  and  with  the  outside 
world,"  said  Fillmore,  putting  another  story  to 
the  air-castle  in  fullest  faith  that  the  foundations 
will  be  reared  in  due  time.  "  They'll  have  to  have 
it  so  as  to  get  the  supplies  in,  and  give  the  people 
an  opportunity  to  go  back  and  forth."  After  a 
pause  he  added:  "  Who  would  have  thought  as 
late  as  a  decade  ago,  that  the  government  could 
be  induced  to  take  up  the  irrigation  work  as  it  has 
done.  Admirable  as  this  project  is,  it  pales  into 
insignificance  when  compared  with  the  work  we 
are  discussing,  in  its  importance  to  mankind." 

A  wren,  emerging  from  its  nest  high  up  among 
the  thorns  of  the  giant  saguaro,  dashed  close  to 
his  head  as  he  was  speaking,  as  if  in  playful  query 
as  to  his  business  on  the  desert.  The  nest  had 
been  skilfully  hollowed  out  among  the  thorns  of 
207 


This  Labyrinthine  Lite 

this  cactus,  which  here  attains  a  height  of  fifty 
feet,  and  formed  a  safe  refuge  for  the  little 
creature. 

"  When  I'm  older,"  said  White,  apropos  of 
nothing  in  particular,  "  I  shall  devote  myself  to 
philosophical  writing.  Philosophy  embodies  the 
highest  and  best  that  we  can  conceive  of  in  litera- 
ture." Then  he  began  a  philippic  against  fiction, 
to  which  the  other,  seeing  an  amusing  hour  ahead, 
and  knowing  the  advisability  of  playing  your 
catch  before  landing  it,  made  but  slight  response. 

11  Fiction  is  for  youth  or  early  life,"  went  on 
White  oracularly,  u  when  one  satisfies  oneself 
with  illusions.  Youth  likes  illusions,  but  mid- 
dle age  wants  facts;  illusions  suffice  no  longer, 
something  more  intime  is  required,  and  philoso- 
phy becomes  its  resource." 

Fillmore's  silence  being  construed  into  assent, 
he  went  on  with  an  air  of  finality.  "  There's 
nothing  deep  or  lasting  about  fiction.  You  are 
only  admitted  inside  the  author's  grounds.  He 
lets  you  look  at  the  outside  of  his  house,  admire 
his  gardens,  play  with  his  dog,  but  you  do  not 
get  beyond  the  threshold.  He  sometimes  enter- 
tains you  with  fireworks,  and  when  you  become 
mutually  tired  of  each  other  sends  you  home.  In 
philosophy,  if  you  are  capable  of  the  right  appre- 
ciation, you  become  a  bosom  friend,  the  honored 
208 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

guest  of  your  host,  who  will  share  his  innermost 
thought  with  you." 

"  But  fiction  gives  you  pictures  of  real  life, 
while  philosophy  only  relates  to  the  conduct  of 
life.  A  photograph  full  of  detail  is  better  than 
a  signboard,"  rejoined  Fillmore  in  rebuttal. 

"  All  the  same,"  declared  White,  "  I  want  to 
try  and  do  something  more  solid  when  I  grow 
older.  To  me,  a  career  like  that  of  Schopenhauer, 
with  sufficient  means  to  live  your  life  as  you  want 
to,  and  with  the  disposition  to  live  it  well — that 
is  something  worth  while." 

Fillmore,  although  with  a  strong  personal  liking 
for  his  companion,  was  never  averse  to  being  en- 
tertained at  his  expense. 

"  What  point  of  view  shall  you  take  when  that 
time  comes?"  he  asked.  "Shall  you  be  pessi- 
mist?" 

"  I'm  too  young  for  the  role  as  yet,  Filly," 
White  replied  with  easy  familiarity.  "  In  youth 
it's  easy  to  be  an  optimist.  If  I  were  well,  life 
would  be  a  perfect  bargain-counter  of  opportuni- 
ties. If  I  had  good  health,  it  would  be  a  case  of 
an  embarrassment  of  riches;  there  would  be  so 
many  things  that  would  seem  easy  of  attainment 
that  it  might  puzzle  me  to  come  to  a  decision. 

"  But  I'm  already  old  enough  to  see  that  it's 
the  game,  the  hunt,  that's  interesting,  the  stakes 
209 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

are  secondary.  By  the  time  I  have  attained  to  a 
small  competency,  and  this  seems  not  impossible 
if  I  can  regain  my  health,  I  shall  probably  be  well 
on  toward  middle  age,  a  period  to  which  pessi- 
mism seems  well  adapted." 

"  You  mean  that  you  start  out  as  an  optimist, 
because  you  have  as  yet  all  your  opportunities  be- 
fore you,  and  that  as  you  gradually  exhaust  them, 
extracting  the  good  out  of  them  by  the  time  you 
reach  middle  age,  you  will  become  pessimistic  be- 
cause of  their  being  exhausted?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  might  narrow  down  to  that," 
White  admitted.  "  Youth,  according  to  the  in- 
scription on  our  clock  at  the  High  School,  '  is  the 
seed-time  of  life,'  and  one  cannot  but  be  hopeful 
in  seed-time.  Lots  of  things  can  and  do  happen 
between  that  and  harvest,  but  you  don't  let  that 
trouble  you." 

After  a  short  pause  Fillmore  answered  with 
slow  emphasis.  "  Fiction  influences  fifty  persons 
where  Philosophy  does  one.  You  mentioned 
Schopenhauer  just  now.  Think  of  all  the  people 
you  know,  and  count  up  how  many  you  will  credit 
with  having  read  his  chief  work  through.  Your 
thumbs  will  more  than  suffice  to  keep  the  reckon- 
ing on." 

White  gave  a  reluctant  assent  and  he  continued : 

"  Take  the  novel  of  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  for 

2IO 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

instance,  which  really  brought  the  political  situa- 
tion to  a  focus  and  precipitated  the  Civil  War. 
Has  any  philosophical  work  ever  influenced  man- 
kind to  anything  like  such  an  extent?  " 

u  But  this  result  was  not  secured  through  the 
deserts  of  the  work,"  asserted  White;  "  it  was  the 
opportuneness  of  its  appearance  that  brought  it 
about.  The  book  came  at  the  psychological  mo- 
ment to  insure  its  instant  acceptance.  Had  it  ap- 
peared ten  years  earlier  it  might  have  fallen  flat. 
Had  its  publication  been  deferred  ten  or  fifteen 
years,  its  opportunities  might  have  gone  by.  Some 
other  solution  of  the  difficulty  might  have  pre- 
sented itself." 

"  So  many  people  are  like  children,"  discoursed 
Fillmore;  "  their  bodies  grow  up,  but  their  minds 
remain  as  in  childhood,  retaining  most  of  their 
infantile  characteristics.  Though  the  body  be 
forty,  the  mind  accompanying  it  often  seems  no 
more  than  fourteen,  as  regards  its  knowledge.  We 
human  beings  can  best  be  led  by  parables  as  Jesus 
well  knew,  or  else  by  suggestion  and  other  Fro- 
belian  methods.  Books  are  a  most  tangible  ex- 
pression of  the  intellectual  faculty,  and  we  must 
have  all  sorts,  but  the  novel  will  always  remain 
the  most  assimilable  form  in  which  ideas  can  be 
conveyed  to  most  people." 

Their  road,  still  ascending,  now  skirting  the 
211 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

talus  at  the  mountain's  foot  in  a  riot  of  light  and 
color  due  to  the  porphyry,  the  pale  green  of  the 
cacti  gorgeously  dressed  in  blossoms,  with  the  yel- 
low sunlight  streaming  over  all — anon  threading 
a  narrow  defile  of  sombre  browns  and  grays — led 
them  at  a  sudden  turn  into  a  canyon,  dark  and  for- 
bidding. In  the  old  days  of  Indian  warfare,  now 
forever  past,  it  would  have  served  admirably  the 
purposes  of  an  ambush.  Though  cooler  here  than 
out  on  the  desert,  they  pressed  on  with  what  haste 
they  could,  filled  with  a  nameless  dread,  a  sense  of 
loneliness  and  apprehension,  that  they  felt  could 
not  have  been  accounted  for  on  physical  grounds. 
The  silence  oppressed  them  as  by  a  weight; 
conversation  was  out  of  the  question.  When 
Fillmore,  who  was  driving,  urged  on  the  ponies, 
his  voice  sounded  hoarse  and  unnatural.  Not 
until  they  emerged  into  the  open  was  their  talk 
resumed. 

"  Why  don't  you  abandon  your  novel  and  try 
your  hand  at  a  short  story?  "  began  Fillmore,  the 
canyon  once  passed.  "  This  would  be  more  in  line 
with  your  previous  work.  You  might  make  a 
good  story  about  Blakeslee.  There  is  a  lot  in  it 
that  would  be  effective." 

"  But  there  must  be  numbers  of  such  deaths 
each  year  here,  among  the  thousands  that  come. 
I  know  of  several  myself.  You  must  have  heard 
212 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  the  cemetery  in  Los  Angeles  with  the  inscrip- 
tion over  the  gateway : 

TO  THE    UNKNOWN   DEAD. 

They  were  mostly  consumptives  who  were  lured 
there  in  the  hope  of  recovery.  No  doubt  some 
died  of  starvation." 

"  All  the  more  need  of  exploiting  the  situation 
with  the  view  of  getting  it  remedied.  The  moral 
is  obvious  enough ;  they  ought  not  to  be  here  alone, 
and  with  scant  means,  so  long  as  no  provision  is 
made  for  them.  Or  rather,  adequate  provision 
should  be  made  for  them,  either  at  their  homes 
or  here.  They  should  not  be  left  to  perish  like 
dogs." 

11  It  may  have  the  elements  of  a  strong  story 
in  it,"  rejoined  White,  "  but  I'm  afraid  the  subject 
would  be  painful." 

"  The  fact  of  its  being  painful  need  not  bar  it. 
All  tragedy  is  that.  How  much  that  is  painful, 
even  repulsive,  you  will  find  in  the  newspapers, 
yet  how  eagerly  they're  read.  It  depends  on  the 
telling  though.  A  story  with  only  the  one  char- 
acter !  It  would  naturally  be  introspective,  analyt- 
ical. The  fact  of  your  having  known  him  should 
enable  you  to  make  something  realistic  out  of  it. 
213 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

You  must  often  have  made  good  newspaper  stories 
out  of  much  slenderer  material." 

"  It  would  be  depressing  to  me.  I  would  be 
apt  not  to  spare  myself.  I  feel  that  some  blame 
attaches  to  me  in  the  matter.  I  had  conditionally- 
agreed  to  go  with  him.  We  had  been  camping 
together,  as  you  know,  all  the  previous  summer 
and  up  to  the  time  he  went  out  on  the  desert. 
When  it  came  to  the  point,  however,  I  developed 
an  overpowering  dislike  to  the  plan  of  going  so 
far  away  from  everybody,  and  tried  my  best  to 
dissuade  him  from  going  too.  I  believe  to  the 
last  he  thought  I  would  come.  I  have  never  felt 
right  about  it,"  concluded  White.  "  I  couldn't 
make  copy  out  of  such  a  thing." 

"  To  the  writer,  everything  that  comes  to  him 
— his  holiest  associations,  the  death  of  a  child, 
love,  sorrow,  remorse — all  eventually  come  to  be 
copy.  The  Threnody  finds  an  answering  chord  in 
thousands  of  human  breasts,  and  it  is  likely  that 
Emerson's  own  grief  for  the  death  of  his  boy  was 
assuaged  through  writing  it." 

But  White  appeared  to  be  unconvinced. 

"  This  single  character,  silhouetted  on  the 
imagination,  alone  on  the  desert,  bereft,  troubled 
in  mind  and  body,  is  to  be  pictured  as  finding  a 
resource  in  Nature  at  the  last,  and  must  even  find 
compensation,"  continued  Fillmore,  knowing  that 
214 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

White  liked  being  urged,  that  he  had  already  de- 
cided on  writing  the  story  anyway,  knowing  even 
that  White  knew  this,  both  keeping  up  the  by-play, 
in  accordance  with  the  mental  characteristics  of 
each. 

"  He  is  alone  with  Nature.  Everything  else 
has  been  taken  from  him.  It  affords  fine  oppor- 
tunities for  description  of  mountain  and  desert. 
Of  this,  the  half  has  never  been  told.  Put  in  at- 
mosphere— purpling  dawns  and  sea-green  sunsets, 
mirages — everything  can  be  said  of  Arizona  with 
truth  on  these  lines.  It's  more  paintable  so  far  as 
word  picturing  goes,  than  California.  Its  mys- 
ticism takes  hold  on  the  imagination.  I've  some- 
times thought  I  could  do  something  myself  with 
the  subject.  Have  you  ever  met  with  Chateau- 
briand's '  Night  in  an  American  Forest '  ?  A 
word-picture  of  the  desert  at  night, — its  isolation, 
its  enthralling  silence  and  vastness, — if  well  done 
would  more  than  parallel  it." 

"  But  there's  no  plot,"  objected  White,  "  and 
with  but  the  one  character,  there  can  be  no  conver- 
sation." 

"  There's  a  plot,  using  the  selfishness  of  the 
cousins — you  remember  their  letters?  as  a  back- 
ground. You  can  hint  at  the  cousin  being  a 
coquette,  who  had  been  toying  with  him.  But 
you  don't  need  a  plot,"  said  Fillmore,  shifting  his 
215 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ground  as  the  incongruity  of  it  struck  him.  "  It's 
the  descriptive  part  that  comes  out  strongly  in 
such  a  story,  and  this  is  of  more  importance  than 
plot  or  conversation.  Conversation's  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  manufacture.  The  story  can 
even  end  happily.  A  Lafcadio  Hearn  might  have 
done  marvels  with  it." 

"  I  could  never  attempt  it,"  replied  White,  de- 
termined to  begin  it  as  soon  as  they  returned  to 
Camp.  "  It  would  give  me  a  setback.  The  very 
thought  of  him  is  a  reproach." 

11  You'd  get  over  that  quick  enough  once  you 
got  started  on  it.  It  would  ease  your  mind  and 
might  have  good  results  in  calling  attention  to 
such  phases  of  the  tuberculosis  problem.  Since 
the  fact  has  been  established  that  the  disease  is 
curable  as  well  as  communicable  and  preventable, 
interest  in  the  subject  has  been  growing  steadily 
among  all  classes  until  now  it  is  recognized  as  one 
of  the  very  important  subjects  before  the  world." 

They  passed  a  clump  of  candlewood  in  leaf 
after  the  recent  rain.  Fillmore  had  not  seen  it 
since  the  rain,  and  stopped  the  ponies  the  better 
to  examine  it.  After  remarking  on  the  curious 
habit  of  the  candlewood  and  some  other  of  the 
desert  growths,  of  putting  out  leaves  only  after 
a  rain,  withdrawing  them  as  soon  as  the  moisture 
required  for  their  sustenance  has  evaporated — a 
216 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

process  which  is  repeated  during  the  year  without 
reference  to  season,  he  continued  the  conversation 
where  he  had  broken  off. 

11  Government  and  people  will  have  to  work  in 
conjunction  in  handling  the  tuberculosis  problem," 
went  on  Fillmore.  "  From  the  point  of  view  of 
self-protection,  if  from  no  higher  motive,  this  will 
have  to  be  done.  While  it  is  the  greatest  scourge 
among  the  diseases  which  afflict  mankind,  there  is 
no  reason  why  it  should  continue  to  be  so  as  it  is 
readily  controllable  given  the  right  equipment  to 
cope  with  it.  The  most  powerful  force  in  the 
world  is  public  opinion.  Anything  can  be  achieved 
by  its  aid,  and  the  novel,  to  come  back  to  our  pre- 
vious topic,  is  one  of  the  most  effective  instru- 
ments by  which  it  can  be  influenced.  You  can 
contribute  your  mite  to  the  general  fund  by  telling 
the  Blakeslee  story." 

"  Almost  thou  persuadest  me,"  replied  White, 
rapidly  summing  up  its  salient  features,  and  think- 
ing how  inadequately  they  had  been  presented  by 
Fillmore  as  compared  with  the  picture  of  it  in  his 
own  mind.     "  But  I  never  could  do  it." 


217 


CHAPTER    XIII 

HOURLY  the  sun  became  more  in  evidence. 
Over  a  third  of  the  distance  to  the  Camp 
had  been  covered  so  far,  and  men  and  horses  were 
yet  fresh.  So  far  as  enduring  the  fatigue  of  the 
trip  went,  the  horses,  doing  all  the  work  would 
have  by  far  the  best  of  it.  No  urging  was  neces- 
sary here.  Sandy  roads,  dust,  heat — they  were 
inured  to  all,  and  would  have  cause  for  thankful- 
ness if  they  got  a  mouthful  of  hay  and  a  drink  of 
water  at  noon. 

The  nooning  was  made  under  an  overhanging 
rock  which  afforded  some  shelter  from  the  ever- 
present  sun.  Patches  of  greasewood  grew  at  their 
feet,  masses  of  porphyry  fantastically  shaped  lay 
all  about  them.  In  the  midst,  all  around,  loomed 
up  the  giant  cacti,  holding  high  carnival  with 
scores  of  large  white  blossoms  at  the  extremity  of 
their  branches.  The  pale  green  of  the  trunks, 
each  so  magically  decked  out  in  its  beauty  of  form 
and  purity  of  tone,  contrasted  finely  with  the  deep 
blue  of  the  sky  above  and  the  red  of  the  porphyry 
beneath.  The  desert  was  fair  to  look  upon. 
218 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

They  partook  of  their  sandwiches  and  fruit, 
discoursing  as  they  ate.  Their  lemonade,  pro- 
tected somewhat  from  the  heat,  was  to  the  thirsty 
travelers  fairly  palatable,  and  the  slight  repast  was 
relished  to  an  extent  that  a  much  better  meal  in 
the  city  would  not  have  afforded  them. 

They  descried  with  their  glasses  a  vulture  sail- 
ing in  stately  fashion,  leisurely  hunting  his  quarry 
through  valley  and  over  mountain.  How  content 
he  seemed!  With  what  serenity  he  sailed  the 
ether  as  if  superior  to  fate. 

"  How  picturesquely  things  arrange  them- 
selves," exclaimed  White,  to  whom  conversation 
was  a  necessity,  "  not  only  in  Nature  as  we  see  it 
right  here  on  the  desert  where  everything  seems 
admirable  of  its  kind,  but  among  individuals  as 
well.  In  our  Camp,  made  up  by  the  accidental 
gathering  together  of  a  dozen  people  from  all 
quarters  of  the  country,  we  have  quite  an  inter- 
esting community;  and  all  without  design,  from 
no  set  purpose.  It  seems  just  to  have  arranged 
itself,  as  if  some  informing  spirit  in  each  had  di- 
rected them  to  a  common  rendezvous.  Each  con- 
tributes his  quota  to  a  sum  total  which  is  quite 
unique.1' 

"  The  infinite  variety  in  Nature  is  its  greatest 
charm,"  assented  Fillmore.  "  You  can  take  a 
dozen  men  from  any  large  body  and  put  them  into 
219 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

a  camp,  and  the  product  would  be  equally  original 
though  wholly  different  from  ours." 

"  What  diversity  there  is  among  them.  How 
picturesque  the  Padre  with  his  gray  hair  and  his 
youthful  face.  What  a  contrast  his  partner,  our 
little  Deacon  presents,  in  his  musical  setting  and 
his  dreamy,  vision-gazing  air.  How  decorative 
they  both  are,  each  in  his  own  genre.  If  it  were 
acting,  the  make-up  of  each  would  be  the  perfec- 
tion of  art." 

"  It's  better  than  art,  it's  Nature." 

"  It's  the  same  through  the  whole  company," 
continued  White,  "  we're  not  all  so  decorative 
as  these  two, — there  are  gradations  in  everything, 
— but  we  have  a  good  ensemble.  Even  Micky, 
with  his  freckles  and  red  hair — his  swagger,  has 
his  esthetic  value.  He  furnishes  color  in  a  double 
sense." 

"  You're  as  decorative  as  any  of  them,  White," 
responded  the  other.  "  Don't  depreciate  yourself. 
You  may  not  be  so  good-looking  as  the  Padre; 
you're  too  young  yet  for  one  thing,  but  if  you're 
good,  you  may  grow  into  the  part." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  got  his  good  looks  by  being 
good,"  answered  White  with  a  grin.  "  That  gray 
hair  is  not  due  to  early  piety." 

11  The  Padre  is  quite  a  different  individual  even 
in  appearance,  from  what  he  was  when  he  first 
220 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

came  here.  The  desert  is  good  for  others  than 
lungers." 

Near  by,  where  they  sat,  they  descried  a  huge 
bisnaga  or  barrel  cactus  which  had  been  cut  off 
near  the  top,  and  the  pulp  scooped  out.  It  had 
furnished  water  for  some  improvident  wayfarer, 
a  prospector  probably,  whose  canteen  water  had 
been  insufficient.  Completely  enveloped  in  spines 
bent  like  fishhooks,  and  as  sharp,  Nature  had 
armed  it  cap-a-pie  against  any  animal  except  man 
that  would  seek  to  invade  its  central  reservoir  of 
water.  White,  with  the  inquiring  mind  of  youth, 
thought  he  would  like  to  try  some  of  the  liquid, 
and  procured  an  augur  from  the  tool  chest,  which 
is  part  of  the  outfit  on  trips  into  the  desert,  but 
the  hole  that  was  bored  with  it  yielded  nothing 
but  shavings.  Then,  nothing  daunted,  he  took 
an  axe,  cut  off  the  top  of  one,  and  soon  had  what 
he  wanted. 

"  You  have  to  go  at  things  in  the  right  way  to 
get  results,"  moralized  Fillmore.  "  It's  so  in  the 
cure  of  lungers  too.  I  think  the  Padre's  going 
at  it  in  the  right  way." 

"With  an  axe?"  asked  White. 

It  was  time  to  be  moving  forward.  When  again 
under  way,  Fillmore  began: 

"  Don't  you  think  our  mode  of  life  out  here 
develops  individuality?  The  desert  environment 
221 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

for  one  thing,  with  the  solitude  which  is  its  neces- 
sary concomitant.  One  can  expand  in  all  directions 
like  a  pine  tree  in  an  open  space.  City  life  tends 
to  make  men  of  one  pattern.  Individuality  is  not 
desired  in  the  thick  of  the  fight.  All  must  be 
subordinated  to  the  one  common  purpose." 

"  All  the  same,  if  I  recover  my  health  I'll  go 
back  to  it.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  make  a  small 
competency  yet,  in  spite  of  everything." 

"  Better  take  up  the  tuberculosis  campaign  as 
a  life-work.  That's  what  I  shall  do.  It's  one  of 
the  great  issues  of  the  day.  And  you're  more 
likely  to  keep  your  health  too,  which  is  the  main 
thing.  Money-making  is  bad  for  the  health.  It 
sure  makes  lungers.  I  shall  stay  right  along  in 
our  Camp  as  I've  told  you.  I'll  have  my  living 
out  of  it,  and  that's  as  much  as  any  of  us  need 
desire.  Then  too,  there  are  interesting  possibili- 
ties in  the  work.  From  a  scientific  point  of  view 
it's  fine  to  think  of  grappling  with  a  disease  like 
tuberculosis,  which  may  invade  any  family,  and 
conquering  it.  And  there's  a  chance  for  com- 
munal theories  to  crystallize.  The  health  camp  is 
communal,  if  anything."  After  a  pause  he  went 
on:  "  The  work  of  the  Camp  may  in  large  part 
come  eventually  to  be  carried  on  by  the  graduates. 
In  the  big  Eastern  sanatoriums,  the  opportunity 
is  given  the  graduates  to  remain  and  qualify  for 
222 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

nurses,  as  well  as  participate  in  the  farm  work. 
Some  of  them  do  so,  and  the  same  plan  could  be 
inaugurated  here.  The  nurses  would  be  a  valu- 
able addition  to  the  new  Camps.  Others  could 
combine  and  operate  fruit  or  dairy  ranches,  and 
they  would  have  the  strongest  reasons  for  holding 
together. 

"Life  in  a  health  camp  such  as  ours  will  de- 
velop into,"  continued  Fillmore,  "  bears  some 
resemblance  to  the  monastic  life.  It's  a  kind  of 
withdrawal  from  the  world  and  one  comes  to 
like  it  after  a  while.  This  is  the  case  in  the  big 
Eastern  sanatoriums.  The  regular  systematic  life 
suits  the  occupants,  and  they  leave,  when  cured, 
often  with  real  regret,  knowing  that  while  there, 
they  are  safe,  or  at  least  in  a  measure  protected 
from  the  many  pitfalls  that  lie  in  the  path  of  the 
unwary." 

"  The  Mirage !  "  exclaimed  White  excitedly. 
"  Look  over  there.     Isn't  that  a  mirage?  " 

Shimmering  into  form  they  saw  this  desert  mar- 
vel, which,  though  not  peculiar  to  the  desert,  is 
more  associated  with  it  than  any  other  phenom- 
enon. Held  up  to  view  in  the  blue  ether,  this 
picture,  fashioned  by  the  cunning  of  the  supreme 
Artist,  held  something  ineffable  in  its  beauty  and 
mystery  to  the  wayfarers,  as  it  were  for  their  de- 
lectation alone. 

223 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Slowly,  even  as  they  watched  it,  it  faded  from 
view,  their  eyes  probably  having  been  the  only 
ones  to  behold  it. 

"  Wealth  has  grown  so  rapidly  in  this  country 
within  the  past  decade;  so  far  beyond  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  individual  need  in  myriads  of  cases," 
began  Fillmore,  harking  back  to  his  theme,  "  that 
it  must  come  to  be  the  greatest  satisfaction  of  the 
wealthy  to  engage  in  helpful  work  for  others  so 
as  to  put  their  surplus  to  some  use.  Say  what  you 
like,  every  right-minded  person  likes  to  be  of  bene- 
fit to  others.  When  they  can  assure  themselves 
that  their  money  will  be  well  applied,  they  like 
to  give." 

11  Do  you  know  the  history  of  the  Denver 
Camp  ?  "  asked  White. 

"  No,"  replied  Fillmore.  "  I  know  that  there 
is  one  there,  but  that  is  all  I  do  know  about  it." 

"  It  was  started  in  this  way,"  said  White  narra- 
tively. "  A  foreign  gentleman,  a  physician  I 
think,  from  Germany,  had  been  traveling  in  this 
country,  and  noticed  the  lamentably  inadequate 
facilities  for  handling  the  tuberculosis  problem 
here  as  compared  with  his  own  country.  What 
was  hardest  for  him  to  understand,  and  which 
troubled  him  after  he  had  returned  to  his  home, 
was  the  number  of  young  men,  consumptives,  that 
he  saw  at  Denver  who  appeared  to  be  almost 
224 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

without  means,  and  for  whom  no  provision  had 
been  made." 

"  It's  about  the  same  here  in  Arizona  right 
now,"  interrupted  Fillmore,  u  although  in  that 
altitude  they  may  become  more  nervous,  and  so 
magnify  their  sufferings  more;  but  it's  bad  enough 
here." 

"  This  gentleman,"  went  on  White,  "  with  the 
spectacle  of  these  helpless  young  men  before  him, 
sent  five  thousand  dollars  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at 
Denver,  instructing  them  to  employ  it  in  estab- 
lishing a  health  camp  for  this  class  of  men.  Resi- 
dents of  Denver,  not  to  be  outdone,  contributed 
land  near  the  city  as  well  as  additional  money,  and 
the  work  was  put  on  a  good  foundation  from  its 
incipiency.  They  take  care  of  fifty  young  men 
now,  at  twenty-five  dollars  per  month  each,  and 
there's  always  a  waiting  list." 

"  Five  thousand  dollars !  "  exclaimed  Fillmore, 
"  and  from  Germany !  Why,  dollars  are  a  good 
deal  scarcer  and  harder  come  by  there  than 
here." 

"All  the  more  credit  to  him.  This  was  the 
pioneer  effort.  Soon  after,  the  Jewish  element, 
generally  to  the  fore  in  philanthropic  work  of  this 
kind,  followed  suit  at  Denver  with  a  similar  camp. 
There's  one  in  Southern  California  too,  at  Indio, 
and  it  has  the  advantage  of  being  at  sea-level. 
225 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

11  When  people  come  to  realize  the  plight  of 
men  like  us,"  continued  White,  "  when  they  find 
out  the  need  of  the  work,  and  the  interesting 
possibilities  that  it  presents  in  effecting  cures, 
many  more  such  camps  will  spring  up  in  suitable 
places." 

"  And  the  good  results  of  the  work  don't  end 
with  the  cures  effected,"  averred  Fillmore.  "  Each 
person  who  has  lived  in  a  health  camp  or  sana- 
torium for  six  months  or  a  year,  and  leaves  it 
with  his  disease  arrested,  is  forever  after  a  mis- 
sionary, preaching  the  gospel  of  hygienic  living. 
He  talks  it  in  season  and  out.  The  discipline  of 
the  Camp  has  grown  into  a  habit  with  him;  he 
believes  in  it  and  seeks  to  propagate  it  whenever 
possible.  Then  too,  if  there  were  enough  camps 
and  sanatoria  so  that  every  invalid,  as  soon  as  the 
fact  of  the  sickness  is  established,  could  avail  him- 
self or  herself  of  the  means  of  cure,  the  principal 
source  of  infection  would  be  removed.  This,  of 
itself,  would  at  once  greatly  decrease  the  number 
of  new  cases." 

They  stopped  at  a  convenient  spot  at  the  foot  of 
a  hill,  where  was  a  clump  of  palo  verde,  resting 
for  a  few  moments  under  it,  for  the  slight  protec- 
tion that  it  afforded  from  the  glare  of  the  sun. 
One  gets  but  little  shade  from  desert  vegetation, 
and  now  that  the  sun  was  almost  directly  overhead, 
226 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

even  the  trunk  of  the  giant  saguaro  afforded  no 
relief.  Not  until  they  could  get  into  a  defile 
would  there  be  any  shade  for  them. 

"  The  next  time  we  make  a  trip  into  the  desert 
as  late  in  the  season  as  this,  we'll  either  have  a 
covered  wagon,  or  we'll  travel  by  night,"  began 
White,  when  they  were  again  under  way.  "  The 
umbrella's  a  little  protection  but  not  much.  We'll 
try  to  return  by  night.  Some  one  from  Bowlegs 
will  probably  be  coming  to  town  when  we're  ready 
to  return,  and  would  probably  prefer  making  the 
trip  by  night." 

"  I  should  enjoy  a  night  ride  on  the  desert," 
responded  Fillmore,  "  but  I'd  want  some  one 
along  who  knew  the  road." 

The  talus  of  the  mountain  through  which  they 
were  passing  was  here  rough  and  broken.  Druid- 
ical  rocks  rose  up  all  about.  Absolute  silence  en- 
veloped them.  No  sign  of  living  thing  was  to  be 
seen. 

"  This  will  be  a  splendid  world  to  live  in  some 
time,  when  people  learn  how  to  live,"  said  Fill- 
more, whiling  away  the  tedium  that  now  and  then 
began  to  assert  itself  after  they  had  ridden  a  mile 
or  two  in  silence,  by  starting  a  conversation  on 
another  tack.  u  We're  gradually  working  toward 
the  goal.  Things  that  are  established  facts  in  this 
generation,  seemed  too  visionary  to  a  previous  one 
227 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

to  be  considered.  Nothing's  too  good  to  expect 
or  look  forward  to." 

"  Very  true,"  responded  White,  "  but  there  was 
something  fine  too  in  the  life  of  the  Greeks,  in 
which  the  intellect  ruled,  and  the  pleasures  of  the 
senses  were,  on  the  whole,  subordinate  to  a  greater 
degree  than  is  the  case  at  present." 

A  burned-out  camp-fire  along  the  roadside  with 
hay  plentifully  scattered  about,  showed  where  a 
party  of  prospectors  had  recently  camped.  It 
gave  a  human  touch  to  the  scene  which  appealed 
to  the  friends.  In  all  the  distance  they  had  cov- 
ered since  leaving  town  they  had  seen  no  human 
being  or  any  vestige  of  civilization.  To  be  so 
sundered  from  humankind  in  all  this  vastness  and 
silence  awed  their  spirits.  A  vision  of  what  it 
must  mean  to  be  lost  on  the  desert,  rose  up  before 
them,  and  they  were  glad  of  even  this  evidence 
of  their  kind. 

The  afternoon  wore  slowly  on,  the  indomitable 
ponies  toiling  on  with  no  more  indication  of  fa- 
tigue than  when  they  started  in  the  morning.  The 
dust,  impalpable,  ubiquitous,  had  settled  impar- 
tially on  every  portion  of  the  outfit.  The  visitors 
would  have  to  make  their  appearance  at  the  Camp 
even  in  this  guise,  as  their  water  would  be  all  but 
consumed  on  the  road. 

The  heat  became  oppressive;  conversation 
228 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

lagged.  White  looked  at  his  watch, — only  a  little 
after  three.  Not  until  five,  could  they  expect  re- 
lief from  the  intense  heat.  Beast  or  shrub  how- 
ever, seemed  any  the  worse  for  it.  Everything 
that  lives  on  the  desert  from  man  to  tree  becomes 
tough,  hardy,  resistant,  abstemious.  Each  is  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  its  environment.  No  desert 
vegetation  droops.  The  blossoms  of  the  giant 
saguaro,  supported  by  their  reservoir  of  water 
within,  as  is  the  case  with  all  cacti,  maintained  an 
appearance  of  freshness  throughout  the  day. 

Still  the  sun  was  omnipresent,  overpowering, 
dominating  everything  in  high-handed  manner. 
The  friends  began  to  feel  like  parts  of  a  machine; 
all  volition  seemed  gone  from  them;  the  strain- 
ing horses,  the  slowly  moving  wagon,  they  them- 
selves seemed  parts  of  some  phantasmagoria. 
Luckily  the  road  was  well  defined;  at  every  inter- 
section a  signboard  was  placed,  so  there  was  no 
anxiety  on  the  score  of  finding  their  way. 

A  mirage  which  suddenly  came  into  view  be- 
fore their  eyes  gave  the  needed  stimulus.  They 
roused  themselves  to  look  at  it,  and  Fillmore  got 
out  his  camera  and  made  an  attempt  to  photo- 
graph it.  Although  he  saw  it  plainly  enough  on 
the  ground  glass,  and  took  all  due  precautions  in 
getting  the  negative,  the  plate  was  a  blank  when 
it  came  to  be  developed  the  next  day,  thus  confirm- 
229 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

ing  what  others  had  told  him  of  their  experiences 
on  the  same  lines. 

Bowlegs  Camp  was  situated  on  the  further  edge 
of  a  mesa  which  had  to  be  crossed  to  reach  it. 
Almost  as  soon  as  the  travelers  descried  the  group 
of  tents  and  the  few  trees  which  made  up  the 
Camp,  they  noticed  a  man  mounted  on  a  pony 
cantering  toward  them.  By  the  aid  of  their 
glasses  they  made  him  out  to  be  Fullerton,  who 
had  been  expecting  them,  and  had  been  on  the 
lookout.  With  this  escort  they  made  their  entry 
into  Camp,  all  the  boys  (and  some  of  the  girls 
too)  turning  out  to  meet  them. 


230 


CHAPTER    XIV 

"  1 '  SHOULD  like  to  have  been  present  when 
JL  Fullerton  made  his  appeal  to  the  boys  to 
have  their  sisters  come  on,"  said  Fillmore,  while 
making  the  tour  of  the  Camp  with  Dick,  on  the 
morning  following  the  arrival  of  the  visitors. 
They  had  been  discussing  the  changes  that  had 
come  over  the  Camp  with  the  advent  of  Berkely's 
sister.  "  A  woman  is  generally  ready  and  willing 
to  make  sacrifices  for  the  men  of  her  family," 
he  went  on,  "  but  not  for  the  sisters  of  the  friends 
of  the  men  of  her  family,"  which  Ollendorfian 
bit  of  logic  met  with  a  ready  response  in  Dick's 
breast,  and  ended  in  a  loud  guffaw.  He  thought 
of  his  sister  Clara,  self-sufficient,  strong-minded; 
Clara,  with  her  Day  Nursery,  her  Society  for  the 
Chloroforming  of  Friendless  Cats,  her  numberless 
other  activities — and  the  humor  of  the  situation 
rose  up  in  him  again  so  that  he  had  to  give  vent 
to  another  roar,  in  which  Fillmore  joined,  and 
which  brought  two  or  three  of  the  miners  to  the 
doors  of  their  tents. 

When  he  had  sobered  down  a  little  he  said: 
231 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

"  The  funniest  part  of  it  was  that  he  was  in 
such  dead  earnest  about  it.  He  drew  some  terri- 
fying possibilities  to  the  boys.  One  of  them  was: 
1  How  would  any  of  you  fellows  like  to  live  for 
months  in  a  Camp  and  be  the  only  man  among  all 
women  ?  '  It  was  a  knock-down  argument  which 
brought  a  hush  on  the  company.  Then  he  clinched 
the  matter  by  saying :  '  It  would  be  as  bad  for 
her  to  be  the  only  woman  here,  as  for  one  of  us 
to  live  in  a  Camp  composed  entirely  of  women.'  " 
Dick  laughed  again;  was  it  from  sheer  youthful 
ebullience,  or  was  there  some  deeper  cause? 

He  thought  again  of  his  sister  Clara,  recalling 
her  decided  opinions  on  all  subjects,  including  ill- 
ness. He  remembered  her  strictures  on  a  man 
with  a  wife  and  four  children  who  had  been  so 
indiscreet  as  to  be  laid  up  with  an  attack  of  rheu- 
matism. "  Positively  reprehensible  in  a  man  with 
such  responsibilities;  he  might  have  prevented  it 
with  due  precaution,"  she  had  said  in  commenting 
on  it.  Clearly,  her  sympathies  did  not  go  out 
readily  to  invalids. 

And  then  he  thought  of  something  else  that 
had  come  into  his  life,  thought  of  it  with  his 
pulses  running  riot  within  him,  thought  of  it  with 
wonder  that  he,  Dick,  should  have  been  singled 
out  for  such  happiness,  should  be  so  favored  of 
fortune.  Poor  old  Fullerton !  How  can  he  stand 
232 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

it  living  alone  this  way,  and  with  nothing  but  this 
to  look  forward  to  for  the  rest  of  his  life!  Poor 
old  Fullerton !  and  fortunate,  fortunate  Dick  (so 
ran  the  corollary  in  his  mind),  for  had  not  Nancy, 
Nancy  Berkely,  the  loveliest  girl  in  all  the  world, 
promised  to  marry  him?  And  this  was  only 
three  days  ago !  To  think  that  he  had  lived  con- 
tentedly all  these  years!  No,  he  had  not  been 
content.  Compared  with  the  present,  the  years 
had  been  barren  years,  and  the  life  a  poor  sort 
of  life.  And  he  didn't  care  what  Clara  would 
say !  Yesterday  he  had  written  her  with  a  quaking 
heart,  telling  her  all  about  it,  but  in  the  interval 
he  had  already  grown  independent.  With  her 
advanced  notions  on  physiology  and  the  improve- 
ment of  the  race  she  would  probably  disapprove, 
but  it  should  not  count  a  feather's  weight  with 
him;  he  had  reached  a  stage  where  he  would  have 
faced  an  army  to  carry  his  point.  The  race  in- 
deed! As  if  there  were  anything  in  the  universe 
so  significant,  as  that  they  two  lived  and  loved 
one  another! 

True,  Miss  Berkely  had  insisted  that  the  en- 
gagement be  a  conditional  one,  pending  her 
restoration  to  health,  but  this  was  almost  certain 
to  come  about  under  the  favoring  conditions  now 
prevailing.  The  chances  were  all  in  his  favor; 
he  need  not  worry  on  that  score,  he  told  himself. 
233 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Clearly  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight — on 
the  part  of  the  susceptible  Dick  even  before  a 
sight  of  the  beloved  had  been  vouchsafed  him. 
Berkely  had  wired  him  when  taking  the  train  from 
Chicago  with  his  sister,  thereby  setting  Dick's 
foolish  heart  all  aflame  with  love  and  desire.  He 
told  Miss  Berkely,  Nancy  now  (adorable  name, 
Nancy!)  that  the  engagement  really  dated  from 
the  receipt  of  the  telegram  in  his  consciousness. 
How  fortunate  that  he  was  in  town  that  day, 
attending  to  the  finishing  touches  of  the  improve- 
ments to  the  Camp  and  so  got  the  telegram  with- 
out delay!  They  were  so  evidently  meant  for 
one  another;  and  then  he  lauded  his  intuitions  that 
had  so  truly  apprised  him  of  it,  adding  that  with 
every  mile  she  was  speeding  westward  he  had  felt 
more  and  more  strongly  the  magnetism  of  her  ap- 
proach. 

"  But  we  stopped  three  hours  in  Kansas  City 
with  a  hot-box,"  said  Nancy  momentarily  prac- 
tical.    "  How  was  it  then?  " 

Dick  thought  her  more  adorable  than  ever. 

Of  the  endless  confidences  that  came  to  be  ex- 
changed between  them,  one  fact  stood  out  in  inef- 
faceable, inexpugnable  clearness,  to  wit:  that  the 
little  god  Cupid,  in  his  inscrutable  wisdom,  had 
reserved  them  for  each  other  out  of  all  the  people 
in  the  world,  bringing  them  here — perhaps  having 
234 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

taken  health  away  temporarily,  to  the  end  that 
they  might  meet. 

Common  sense  had  indeed  tried  to  butt  in  on 
the  matter,  but  had  met  with  a  poor  reception  for 
its  pains.  "  Common  sense  indeed !  It's  sense  of 
a  very  uncommon  kind  that  directs  you  in  these 
matters,"  thought  Dick,  "  enabling  you  to  ap- 
proach a  happiness  like  this,  bringing  you  to  the 
very  acme  of  your  life  with  Fortune  designing 
you  as  her  favorite!  Common  sense,  this  knave, 
this  liar  and  trickster  that  always  tries  to  prevent 
you  from  having  what  you  want  on  the  ground 
of  it  not  being  good  for  you,  wanting  to  keep  you 
from  grasping  at  such  an  opportunity,  as  if  it 
would  ever  be  presented  again !  To  turn  your 
back  on  this  trickster  and  obey  yourself — was  not 
this  wisdom  of  the  highest  kind?  Having  gotten 
your  heart's  desire,  would  you  barter  it  for  any- 
thing in  creation?"    Wise,  foolish  Dick! 

Dick's  proposition  to  Fullerton  about  marry- 
ing, given  in  jest  though  it  was,  opened  up  the  past 
to  the  older  man  in  a  way  that  the  other  could  not 
have  remotely  suspected.  Practical  men  like  Dick 
are  not  clairvoyant,  and  he  would  never  know  that 
he  had  touched  on  a  sore  spot  under  the  quiet 
demeanor  of  the  older  man.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Fullerton  was  married.  It  was  through  being 
married  that  Arizona  had  him  for  a  sojourner. 
235 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

He  had  married  when  quite  young,  a  girl  two 
years  his  senior.  The  marriage  lottery  had  held 
no  prize  for  him,  and  within  two  years  matters 
had  come  to  a  climax. 

Fullerton,  always  passive,  would  have  let  mat- 
ters drift,  but  his  wife,  more  positive,  took  the 
initiative.  On  the  occasion  of  his  absence  in  an- 
other city  for  a  week,  whither  he  had  been  sent 
by  the  firm  by  whom  he  was  employed  at  the  time, 
she  had  gathered  together  the  lares  and  penates, 
stripping  the  house  of  everything  and  leaving  only 
his  wearing-apparel,  sending  everything  to  her 
father's  house  in  a  village  some  thirty  miles  dis- 
tant, whither  she  also  went.  He  returned  at  night 
to  an  empty  house,  without  so  much  as  a  note  of 
explanation  having  been  left  for  him.  The  humil- 
iation of  it  was  more  than  even  he  could  endure; 
he  made  no  effort  at  reconciliation,  but  resigned 
his  position  and  started  for  the  West,  not  caring 
much  where  he  ended  up,  so  that  he  might  put 
distance  between  them,  and  if  possible  forget  the 
past. 

The  letters  that  came  to  him  from  his  people 
gave  but  meagre  information  regarding  his  wife's 
movements.  Her  mother  had  been  dead  some 
years  before  her  marriage.  She  was  an  only  child. 
Her  father,  they  reported,  had  disapproved  of  the 
step  she  had  taken  in  leaving  her  husband,  and 
236 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

probably  had  not  made  things  pleasant  for  her. 
At  all  events,  after  the  expiration  of  a  few  weeks 
she  left  him,  and  returned  to  the  city  and  her 
old  occupation  of  stenography. 

This  was  eight  years  ago,  and  nothing  definite 
had  come  to  Fullerton  since,  regarding  her.  It 
was  current  gossip  in  the  village  that  she  had  never 
communicated  with  her  father  after  leaving  him, 
and  as  this  was  vouched  for  by  the  postmistress 
herself  it  was  generally  accepted  as  truth.  Her 
father  had  now  been  dead  five  years,  and  this 
mysterious  absence  was  still  maintained.  The  old 
mansion  on  the  hill,  from  which  they  had 
been  married,  now  closed  and  deserted,  with 
all  its  quaint  old  furnishings  still  there,  without 
owner  or  even  caretaker,  must  be  the  occasion 
of  much  comment  in  the  village  he  sometimes 
thought. 

Fullerton  had  a  sister  back  East,  a  Mrs.  Brad- 
shawe,  who,  while  not  a  newsmonger  or  gossip, 
was  considered  fairly  good  at  finding  out  things 
of  interest.  She  had  been  able  to  gather  very  little 
information  on  this  topic,  but  this  little  was  always 
dutifully  given  him  in  detail,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  he  never  referred  to  the  matter  in  his 
letters  to  her. 

When  he  returned  to  his  tent  that  night  after 
Dick  had  "  joshed  "  him  about  marrying,  he  un- 
237 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

locked  a  tin  box  which  he  kept  at  the  bottom  of 
his  trunk,  and  took  out  a  letter.     It  read : 

Dear  Boy  Bobby: 

I  have  some  news  about  Mr.  Cameron  which  you  should 
know.  I  don't  like  to  open  up  the  subject  of  your  unfortunate 
marriage.  It's  much  the  best  course  to  forget  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, but  this  concerns  you.  The  old  gentleman  is  dead. 
He  died  a  week  ago,  and  was  buried  last  Thursday.  Bobby, 
that  woman  never  even  wore  mourning  at  the  funeral.  And 
there  were  no  mourners !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  ? 
To  think  that  you  should  have  run  up  against  such  eccentric 
people.  She  kept  her  veil  down  all  during  the  service  and 
when  it  was  over,  left  the  house  without  speaking  to  anyone, 
and  took  the  next  train  out  of  town. 

I  am  glad  to  receive  your  letter,  and  to  know  that  you  have 
returned  safely  from  that  prospecting  trip  in  the  mountains. 
What  with  the  Apaches,  and  the  mountain  lions,  and  the  Gila 
monsters — you  see  I've  been  reading  up  about  Arizona — I  am 
in  suspense  from  one  letter  to  the  next  for  fear  that  you  have 
succumbed  to  one  peril  or  another.  When  I  think  of  the  way 
she  has  served  you,  driving  you  to  that  horrible  country,  I  feel 
that  no  punishment  could  be  too  great  for  her. 

Then  followed  a  description  of  the  funeral. 

There  was  a  newspaper  clipping  from  an  issue 
some  months  subsequent  to  the  date  of  the  letter 
he  had  just  read.  He  took  it  up  mechanically 
and  went  over  its  contents. 

Since    the    death    of  Hugh    Cameron    a    few   months   ago, 
the  house  on  the  hill,   which  he  owned   and  occupied  for  so 
many  years,  has  been  closed  and  presents  a  forlorn  appearance. 
238 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Nothing  has  yet  transpired  in  regard  to  the  whereabouts  of  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Fullerton,  whose  presence  is  necessary  to  the 
setdement  of  the  estate.  From  all  accounts  there  is  not  much 
of  an  estate  to  settle,  as  it  appears  he  left  nothing  but  the  fine 
old  house  in  which  he  lived  for  so  many  years.  It  is  said,  in 
fact,  that  he  was  in  straitened  circumstances  toward  the  last  and, 
had  he  lived  much  longer,  would  have  had  to  mortgage  his 
house.  As  it  is,  the  house  is  free  from  incumbrance.  There 
is  no  will,  and  as  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Fullerton,  inherits  under 
the  law,  it  is  important  to  find  her.  Lawyer  Edmundston,  who 
had  the  management  of  the  affairs  of  the  late  Mr.  Cameron,  has 
caused  an  advertisement  to  appear  in  the  city  in  which  she  last 
resided,  and  it  is  hoped  this  will  produce  the  desired  result. 

Subsequent  letters  from  his  sister  were  of  the 
same  tenor,  generally  prefaced  by  a  deprecatory 
clause  to  the  effect  that  she  didn't  want  to  open 
up  the  past.  They  told  how  the  house,  being  still 
closed  and  deserted,  would  get  the  reputation  of 
being  haunted  if  this  state  of  things  were  con- 
tinued long — how  the  furnishings  and  appoint- 
ments were  still  intact,  the  lawyer  making  occa- 
sional inspections,  how  nothing  could  be  done 
toward  disposing  of  it  pending  the  return  of  the 
daughter.  The  deterioration  of  the  place,  the 
accumulated  taxes — money  for  which  the  attorney 
was  advancing,  the  necessity  of  repairs  to  keep  it 
intact,  all  made  it  necessary  that  she  come  forward 
so  that  the  place  could  be  disposed  of,  and  some 
remnant  of  the  inheritance  saved. 
239 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  What  she  needed,"  wrote  Fullerton's  sister  in 
a  subsequent  letter,  "  was  a  strong  masterful  man, 
who  would  have  made  some  things  plain  to  her 
from  the  start.  You  were  too  passive,  too  non- 
resistant;  a  stronger  man  might  have  taken  the 
foolishness  out  of  her,  although  I  don't  know  as 
it  would  have  been  worth  the  trouble.  She  was 
a  spoiled  child  if  there  ever  was  one." 

He  sat  up  late  that  night  musing.  In  the  old 
life  of  adventure,  he  had  been  fairly  content,  but 
all  at  once  the  prospect  ahead  of  living  alone 
through  the  coming  years  seemed  dreary  indeed. 
He  began  to  realize  how  alone  in  the  world  he 
was;  and  the  one  great  need  of  the  human — to 
love  and  to  be  loved — came  upon  him  all  of  a 
sudden  with  overwhelming  force.  Dick's  jest  had 
awakened  and  called  into  being  all  the  longing 
for  fireside  joys  which  he  had  for  so  long  sup- 
pressed. 

"  Would  it  have  to  go  on  this  way  for  always? 
By  what  right,"  he  asked  himself  fiercely,  "  should 
this  be  required  of  him?  Had  he  not  endeavored 
to  make  the  best  of  things  ?  The  home  had  never 
been  a  pleasant  one,  his  wife  uncongenial,  but  he 
had  always  been  patient,  hoping  that  harmony 
would  come  in  time.  And  before  this  could  be 
brought  about  she  had  abandoned  him.  He  didn't 
even  know  whether  she  were  still  living.  Had  he 
240 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

not  endured  enough  as  it  was?     There  ought  to 
be  something  else  in  life  besides  renunciation !  " 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night  Fullerton  wrote 
Mr.  Edmundston,  asking  for  particulars  concern- 
ing his  wife.  It  was  possible  that  she  had  already 
divorced  him,  serving  the  notice  by  publication. 
This  would  not  surprise  him,  he  thought.  It 
would  only  be  on  a  line  with  her  general  attitude 
toward  him,  and,  in  any  event,  it  would  be  well 
to  know  the  status  of  things  in  the  matter. 

White  and  Fillmore  remained  in  Camp  several 
days,  during  which  White  began  taking  notes  for 
his  story  of  Blakeslee.  Fillmore,  greatly  inter- 
ested in  the  little  sociological  experiment  going 
on  there,  both  as  regards  the  mine,  as  well  as  the 
health  camp,  made  it  his  business  to  get  acquainted 
with  the  miners,  and  also  struck  up  a  friendship 
with  the  young  physician,  Dr.  Myers.  The  work 
already  inaugurated  here,  though  of  a  different 
character  from  that  which  was  being  evolved  at 
their  own  Camp,  gave  promise  of  good  results. 
With  the  advent  of  the  ladies  a  poultry  yard  had 
been  inaugurated,  a  cow  had  been  installed,  al- 
though feed  had  to  be  packed  many  miles  across 
the  desert,  a  laundry  for  the  use  of  all  was  main- 
tained, and  a  good  vegetable  garden  carried  on. 

At  first,  some  of  the  miners  continued  to  do 
241 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

their  own  cooking  from  force  of  habit,  but  now 
they  all  ate  at  the  common  table,  or  rather  tables, 
as  there  were  several,  and  the  greater  comfort  of 
it  all,  as  well  as  the  superior  quality  of  the  food, 
amply  repaid  them  for  their  work  and  outlay  in 
the  new  departure.  The  social  side  of  it  appealed 
to  them  too.  It  came  to  be  a  kind  of  festive 
occasion  to  them,  dining  in  the  presence  of  ladies, 
and  they  were  only  just  becoming  aware  of  the 
privations  they  had  hitherto  undergone. 

Given  the  right  material  to  work  on,  we  know 
Cupid  can  ply  his  arts  as  successfully  out  on  the 
desert  as  in  the  crowded  marts  of  trade.  All  he 
wants  is  half  a  chance,  and  he  had  this,  and  more 
with  the  advent  of  the  ladies  at  Camp  Bowlegs. 
Having  secured  so  good  a  votary  in  Dick,  the 
efforts  of  the  little  winged  creature  were  next 
directed  toward  what  seemed  a  more  unpromising 
subject,  but  this,  too,  was  finally  carried  through  to 
a  successful  issue,  without  much  difficulty.  "  When 
a  man  buys  Germantown  wool,"  thought  White 
that  day  in  the  department  store  in  town,  "  he's 
already  hard  hit."  But  of  Fullerton  and  Cupid, 
more  anon. 

The   problem   with   the   invalids   of  where   to 

spend  the  summer  loomed  up  here  at  Bowlegs  as 

elsewhere.     It  was  now  May,  and  with  the  advent 

of  summer,  the  question  became  daily  more  insist- 

242 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ent.  At  times  it  already  became  uncomfortably 
warm  at  midday;  what  it  would  be  in  July  might 
be  conjectured.  The  long-continued  heat  of  the 
Arizona  summer,  in  the  valley,  becomes  depress- 
ing to  the  invalids,  with  the  result  that  the  gain 
achieved  during  the  winter,  is  often  lost  in  the 
summer  sojourn.  This  the  boys  were  aware  of, 
and,  flattered  by  Fillmore's  interest  in  their  work, 
they  held  a  meeting,  at  which  it  was  unanimously 
resolved  to  provide  a  Summer  Camp  for  the  in- 
valids. (It  was  characteristic  of  them  that  the 
word  "  lunger,"  everywhere  in  use  in  Arizona, 
more  especially  by  the  invalids  themselves,  was 
never  used  by  the  miners  since  the  advent  of  the 
ladies.) 

Should  the  health  of  the  visitors  continue  to 
improve  as  in  the  past,  they  would  probably  be 
in  condition  to  be  graduated  after  another  winter, 
as  they  were  incipient  cases  for  the  most  part. 
With  dismay  the  thought  came  to  them  that 
with  recovery  there  would  be  no  further  occasion 
for  their  presence  in  the  Camp — until  it  occurred 
to  them  that  others  could  readily  be  induced  to 
come  in  their  places.  It  was  not  to  be  thought  of, 
to  allow  the  Camp  to  revert  to  its  former  condi- 
tion of  privation  and  discomfort.  That  they 
themselves  would  be  benefited  as  a  result  of  the 
experiment,   was   something  that   had  never   oc- 

243 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

curred  to  them  when  starting  the  project,  and  it 
was  a  compensation  as  unexpected  as  agreeable. 
They  would  continue  the  work.  It  involved  labor 
as  well  as  expense  to  care  for  invalids  so  far  from 
civilization,  but  on  the  social  side  alone  they  found 
it  well  worth  while.  Each  man-jack  of  them 
worked  more  assiduously  in  the  added  incentive 
which  the  project  offered. 

Yes,  they  would  continue  to  extend  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  Camp  to  a  few  invalids  right  along, 
summer  and  winter.  The  means  for  doing  it 
came  out  of  the  ground  placed  there  by  the  Al- 
mighty, perhaps  for  this  very  purpose,  as  Fuller- 
ton  pointed  out  during  the  conclave  (to  which  a 
hearty  response  of  "  You  bet  I  "  and  "  Bet  your 
life !  "  from  the  others  gave  a  suggestion  as  if 
proceeding  from  a  religious  meeting)  and  they 
couldn't  apply  a  portion  of  their  surplus  to  better 
use.  The  mine  had  cost  them  nothing  in  the  first 
place  beyond  the  prospecting,  and  they  had  a  treas- 
ure in  it,  their  labor  bringing  in  much  more  than 
was  needed  for  their  own  purposes.  "  Would  it 
be  a  square  deal  toward  the  Giver,"  Fullerton 
asked,  "  for  us  to  take  this  gift,  and  let  others 
suffer,  perhaps  die,  for  want  of  a  portion  of  this 
surplus  which  we  cannot  use  anyway  ?  " 

Perhaps  our  greatest  mistakes  in  life  result  from 
our  inability  to  get  at  the  point  of  view  of  others. 
244 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

We  are,  most  of  us,  so  encysted  with  selfishness, 
that  we  are  unable  to  see  conditions  as  they  are; 
we  only  see  dimly,  and  with  distorted  vision.  We 
are,  for  the  most  part,  quite  oblivious  to  what 
should  be  our  right  relations  toward  our  fellow 
human  beings.  Even  when  their  lives  are  bound 
up  in  ours  is  this  too  often  the  case.  We  see  their 
difficulties  from  our  point  of  view,  a  point  of  view 
so  colored  by  our  selfishness,  that  we  are  only  too 
prone  to  minimize  them.  We  see  only  the  outer 
manifestation,  not  the  inner  pain.  To  us  the 
tragedy  being  enacted  under  our  very  eyes  seems 
meanwhile  only  an  inconvenience  which  the  suf- 
ferer should  bear  with  equanimity. 

These  men,  living  close  to  the  realities  of  life, 
— away  from  its  sophistries  and  artificialities,  ap- 
prehended the  situation  more  correctly.  Through 
aiding  the  invalids  at  their  Camp  toward  recov- 
ery, they  themselves  attained  to  a  clearer  mental 
outlook.  They  discerned  thereby  that  each  is  a 
debtor  to  others  for  what  happiness  is  gotten  from 
life,  and  that  it  is  not  enough  to  pay  your  financial 
obligations;  the  meanest  clown  does  that.  They 
came  to  perceive  a  wider  obligation,  the  obliga- 
tion of  the  individual  to  the  whole,  to  ignore 
which  is  to  make  a  defaulter  of  oneself.  In  giving 
of  their  surplus,  they  did  not  feel  that  they  were 
performing  a  specially  meritorious  act;  rather,  as 
245 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

the  opportunity  of  doing  their  little  toward  squar- 
ing the  account  had  presented  itself  to  them  in 
such  agreeable  fashion,  they  came  to  regard  it  as 
a  privilege. 

And  the  Camp  prospered  in  greater  measure 
than  ever  before.  Whether  this  was  owing  to  the 
fact  that  each  now  worked  with  more  zest  than 
formerly — having  more  incentive  thereto,  or  that 
"  the  luck "  had  come  to  the  Camp  along  with 
these  ladies — a  vein  of  superstition  is  generally  a 
part  of  the  make-up  of  the  miner — there  was  no 
disputing  the  fact  that  more  ore,  and  better  ore 
was  now  coming  to  the  surface  than  formerly,  and 
the  added  expense  of  maintaining  the  health  camp 
was  in  part  being  made  up;  the  sacrifices  they 
had  made,  had  been  by  some  strange  alchemy 
transmuted  into  benefits. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  the  best  place  for 
the  Summer  Camp  would  be  in  one  of  the  valleys 
of  Southern  California,  where  the  summer  climate 
somewhat  resembles  that  of  the  Arizona  winter 
in  the  absence  of  rains  and  dews,  and  in  the  warm 
sunshiny  days  and  clear,  cool  nights.  Dick  had 
argued  in  favor  of  having  it  somewhere  in  Ari- 
zona, the  Verde  country,  or  the  region  about 
Flagstaff;  or  the  Coconino  Forest  near  the  Grand 
Canon,  but  was  overruled  by  the  physician,  who 
pointed  out  the  great  danger  to  some  from  the 
246 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

extreme  altitude,  saying  that  even  a  moderate  alti- 
tude was  harmful  in  a  third  of  the  cases,  and  that 
any  reasonable  degree  of  coolness  was  not  to  be 
looked  for  in  Arizona  except  at  an  altitude  that 
might  be  injurious  to  these.  It  ended  by  Dick 
and  the  physician  being  delegated  to  go  on  ahead, 
select  a  suitable  location,  purchase  tents  and  equip- 
ments, and,  when  all  was  ready,  the  others  were  to 
follow,  under  the  charge  of  Berkely  or  Fullerton. 

Of  Dick,  Fillmore  saw  but  little  after  the  Cali- 
fornia project  was  decided  on.  His  clerical  duties, 
in  anticipation  of  his  absence,  kept  him  measur- 
ably busy,  and  his  spare  hours  were  devoted  to 
Nancy.  Honest  Dick  ran  the  gamut  of  the  emo- 
tions these  days.  Nancy's  recovery  was  the  main 
thing,  and,  once  convinced  that  this  could  be  better 
effected  in  California  he  cooperated  heartily  with 
the  project  of  establishing  the  Summer  Camp 
there.  Her  departure  must  be  hastened  as  much 
as  possible.  She  must  not  remain  here  and  lose 
what  she  had  already  gained.  Her  restoration  to 
health  meant  the  life  happiness  of  both. 

But  the  long  separation!  She  must  be  absent 
at  least  five  months,  and  how  he  was  to  get  through 
this  period,  the  poor  fellow  did  not  himself  know. 
Five  months!  Each  month  would  seem  like  a 
year.  It  was  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart  that  he 
thought  of  it.  %  On  the  other  hand,  she  would  be 
247 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

living  under  such  healthful  conditions  there,  that 
good  progress  toward  recovery  would  be  made, 
and  at  this  thought,  his  depression  would  give  way 
to  elation. 

All  this  he  concealed  from  Nancy,  whose  out- 
look on  life,  to  insure  recovery,  must  be  as  pleas- 
ant as  possible  he  argued.  Acting  on  this,  he  often 
began  to  whistle  on  approaching  her  tent  when 
his  heart  was  like  a  stone  within  him.  This  did 
not  deceive  Nancy  in  the  least,  whose  feminine 
intuitions  enabled  her  to.  comprehend  Dick's  true 
frame  of  mind;  but  it  brought  her  nearer  to  him 
in  spirit,  than  had  all  his  ardent  protestations. 

Fillmore's  preoccupation  with  the  others  gave 
White  a  good  opportunity  for  going  on  with  his 
story ;  he  meant  to  have  it  well  on  the  road  to  com- 
pletion before  going  away  for  the  summer.  The 
friends  deferred  their  return  to  their  own  Camp 
until  Dick  and  Dr.  Myers  were  ready  to  start  for 
California  so  as  to  enable  them  to  make  the  trip 
to  town  together,  and  their  stay  at  Bowlegs  con- 
tinued for  nearly  a  week.  Finally,  however,  Dick 
announced  that  he  was  ready,  and  they  left  on  the 
following  morning. 

They  made  an  early  start,  being  on  the  road 

before  daybreak,  Dick  and  the  physician  in  the 

saddle.     Dick  was  preoccupied;  in  fact  he  had  a 

grievance.     He  had  not  kissed  Nancy,  and  would 

248 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

probably  not  see  her  again  in  over  a  fortnight.  A 
thousand  miles  would  separate  them,  and  he  had 
not  kissed  her;  he  had  never  yet  done  so,  kissing 
being  strictly  against  the  sanatorium  discipline 
under  which  his  recovery  had  been  made.  Hang 
the  sanatorium!  But  what  a  discipline  it  was! 
How  strongly  they  must  have  instilled  the  rules 
into  his  mind  that  the  effect  should  so  outlast  his 
stay  there !  should  so  rise  superior  to  desire !  The 
fellows  had  sometimes  compared  existence  there 
with  that  of  the  monastic  life,  and  well  they  might, 
thought  Dick. 

He  nursed  his  grievance  all  the  morning,  but  at 
the  nooning,  his  work  of  preparing  coffee,  frying 
bacon,  and  the  other  homely  camp  duties  took  his 
mind  off  his  own  affairs.  He  gave  his  companions 
an  illustration  of  the  prospector's  camping  meth- 
ods, which  dispenses  not  only  with  all  superflui- 
ties but  also  most  necessities.  He  made  his  fire 
of  sagebrush,  then  wiping  the  dust  out  of  the 
frying-pan  with  a  piece  of  newspaper,  turned  the 
inside  of  the  pan  to  the  fire  to  cleanse  it.  No  pros- 
pector ever  wastes  canteen  water  in  washing 
dishes,  the  newspaper  being  made  to  answer  every 
purpose  in  this  respect. 

The  appetite  that  each  brought  to  the  repast, 
rendered  keen  by  the  long  ride  in  the  clear  desert 
air,  made  it  seem  a  banquet  to  them,  and  the  feeling 
249 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  well-being  that  it  induced  acted  as  a  lubricant 
to  their  speech. 

"  Do  you  see  that  mountain  peak  in  the  opening 
from  this  range?"  asked  Dick  of  Fillmore,  indi- 
cating a  mountain  to  the  Southward  bathed  in 
purplish  haze.  "  That's  in  Mexico,  not  so  far 
from  the  Arizona  border,  and,  some  years  ago, 
was  the  scene  of  a  most  desperate  encounter  be- 
tween a  solitary  prospector  on  the  one  side,  and 
about  a  dozen  of  the  savage  Yaquis  on  the  other." 

"  He  surrounded  them  and  took  them  prison- 
ers? "  asked  White,  butting  in. 

"  Not  exactly,  but  for  an  entire  day  held  them 
at  bay,  and  outwitted  them  at  the  last.  He  was  a 
daredevil  for  fair  in  those  days,  by  all  accounts," 
went  on  Dick  narratively.  "  I  know  him  well; 
he  Was  a  member  of  our  Camp  until  recently,  and 
I've  often  heard  him  tell  the  story.  There  was 
an  old  Mexican  in  Sonora,  Don  Patricio  de  Her- 
era,  who  had  a  valuable  mining  claim  on  this 
mountain,  which  was  about  to  lapse  owing  to  non- 
payment of  taxes.  It  was  a  gold  proposition,  the 
annual  tax  for  retaining  which,  is  ten  dollars  for 
each  pertene nc'ia.  The  concession  was  a  large  one, 
comprising  many  pertenencias ,  and  this  was  only 
one  among  several  that  the  Don  was  holding 
down.  These  Mexican  Dons  always  think  and 
act  in  large  figures,  and  it  may  be  that  he  was  at 
250 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

times  really  pressed  for  money  and  was  unable  to 
meet  this  payment.  The  claim,  as  I  have  said, 
was  a  valuable  one,  but  the  Don,  indolent  and 
wealthy,  had  no  thought  of  working  it,  simply 
holding  on  to  it  from  year  to  year.  Well,  there 
was  a  reckless,  daredevil  kind  of  a  fellow  named 
Middleton,  who  had  got  on  to  the  deal.  He 
knew  the  Don's  carelessness,  and  had  watched  the 
thing,  intending  to  jump  the  claim  as  soon  as  the 
Don's  right  had  lapsed. 

"  It  was  a  spirit  of  bravado  and  adventure,  with 
a  little  revenge  thrown  in,  that  prompted  Middle- 
ton  as  much  as  anything  else  in  the  matter.  He 
had  been  sweet  on  the  Mexican's  daughter,  but 
the  old  Don  would  have  nothing  of  him,  and  sent 
the  girl  to  a  convent  in  the  City  of  Mexico. 

"  Middleton  watched  his  chance  and,  when 
within  a  day  of  the  expiration  of  the  claim,  went 
to  the  Don,  taunted  him  with  the  statement  that 
the  claim  had  practically  lapsed,  and  that  he  in- 
tended jumping  it.  He  placed  his  whole  reliance 
on  a  horse  that  had  few  equals  in  the  way  of 
speed  and  staying  qualities.  He  had  made  his 
preparations  beforehand,  and  without  stopping  to 
hear  the  Don's  reply,  put  spurs  to  his  broncho, 
and  rode  away. 

"  But  Middleton  was  not  to  have  so  easy  a  vic- 
tory as  he  had  supposed.  Don  Patricio,  ordinarily 
251 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

careless  and  easy  going,  could  act  with  decision 
when  occasion  required,  and  he  was  equal  to  his 
emergency  in  the  present  instance.  Among  his 
vaqueros  was  one  named  Enrico,  who  was  a  match 
for  Middleton  in  recklessness  and  hardihood,  with 
the  further  advantage  of  having  been  bred  to  the 
life.  He  had  been  given  charge  of  the  escort 
which  had  conducted  the  Don's  daughter  to  No- 
gales,  the  nearest  railroad  town,  on  her  journey 
to  the  City  of  Mexico,  and  Don  Patricio  knew 
that  he  could  trust  him  in  anything.  Enrico  must 
reach  the  claim  first,  and  post  a  notice  in  his  own 
name.  Before  Middleton  was  out  of  sight  the 
Don  had  jumped  onto  one  of  the  ponies,  which, 
saddled  and  bridled,  are  to  be  seen  at  all  hours 
about  the  Mexican  hacienda,  and  was  off  in  quest 
of  Enrico.  Now,  Enrico  knew  of  a  short  cut 
which  Middleton  would  not  dare  take  even  if  he 
knew  of  it,  owing  to  a  most  dangerous  ford  which 
was  almost  impassible  on  account  of  quicksands. 
By  the  farther  route  the  claim  was  but  a  hundred 
miles  distant  from  the  hacienda,  and  as  this  could 
be  done  in  a  day  at  a  pinch,  he  would  be  sure  to 
take  no  chances  in  the  matter.  In  a  trip  like  that, 
the  horse  is  the  key  to  the  situation.  Enrico  had 
a  broncho  which  he  had  reared  from  a  colt,  which 
in  intelligence  was  almost  human,  and  which  he 
felt  could  be  safely  pitted  against  the  other's 
252 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

horse.  It  transpired  that  he  had  made  the  trip 
to  the  claim  once  before,  in  the  Don's  service, 
taking  the  short  cut  over  the  dangerous  ford,  on 
which  occasion  the  broncho  had  shown  a  sagacity 
in  working  out  of  the  quicksands,  worthy  of  the 
evil  one,  as  the  vaquero  afterward  told  Don 
Patricio. 

"  Enrico  had  his  preparations  soon  made — the 
Mexican  vaquero  being  almost  as  hardy  and  ab- 
stemious on  occasion  as  his  horse — and  rode  away 
confident  of  victory. 

"  On  the  route  taken  by  Middleton — the  longer 
one,  as  Enrico  rightly  surmised — there  was  a 
water-hole  about  sixty  miles  out,  which  he  reached 
toward  evening  of  the  first  day.  Here  he  made 
his  camp  for  the  night.  He  had  been  keeping  a 
sharp  lookout  all  day  for  Indians,  the  Apaches 
and  the  Yaquis  having  always  been  troublesome  in 
those  parts.  He  was  well  heeled,  and  slept  with 
his  Winchester  at  his  side,  but  he  passed  the  night 
without  incident.  The  approach  to  the  water-hole 
was  through  a  narrow  defile,  with  almost  per- 
pendicular cliffs  on  each  side  and  was  a  good 
strategic  point. 

"  The  trouble  began  while  at  breakfast,  shortly 
after  daylight,  when  he  noticed  the  Yaquis  ap- 
proaching warily,  beyond  gunshot.  He  had  plenty 
of  ammunition,  and,  as  they  came  within  range, 
253 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

let  fly  at  the  foremost,  disabling  his  horse.  Their 
horses  seemed  spent;  it  looked  as  if  they  had  come 
in  from  a  long  ride  and  wanted  the  water  more 
than  anything  else,  but  Middleton  could  take  no 
chances.  As  I  have  said,  he  kept  them  at  bay  all 
day,  wounding  several  as  they  came  within  reach. 
They  could  not  scale  the  cliffs,  and  to  go  around 
the  mountain  so  as  to  attack  him  from  the  other 
side  would  take  half  a  day,  and  would  be  well- 
nigh  impossible  in  the  condition  which  their  horses 
were  in,  so  he  felt  reasonably  safe  while  daylight 
lasted.  After  that,  the  tables  would  be  turned  on 
him  he  well  knew." 

11  How  did  he  get  out  of  it?  "  asked  White,  as 
Dick  paused  to  light  another  cigar. 

"  Held  them  off  until  nightfall,  and  then  blew 
up  the  water-hole." 

"  Blew  it  up !     How,  and  why?  " 

"  Prospectors  usually  carry  a  few  sticks  of  dyna- 
mite as  part  of  their  outfit  on  going  into  the  desert," 
replied  Dick,  "  so  as  to  enable  them,  should  they 
make  a  find,  to  extend  their  examination  by  blast- 
ing. Middleton  was  provided  in  this  respect,  and 
knew  that  his  only  chance  of  escape  lay  in  putting 
the  water-hole  out  of  commission.  Many  signs 
pointed  indubitably  to  the  fact  that  his  enemies 
were  well-nigh  exhausted  for  want  of  water.  His 
own  horse  was  fresh,  having  had  a  little  grazing, 
254 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

and  a  sufficiency  of  water.  He  knew  he  would  be 
attacked  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  His  only 
hope  was  to  blow  up  the  water-hole  at  nightfall 
and  flee.  Among  the  Indians,  neither  men  nor 
horses  would  be  able  to  pursue  him  far  without 
water;  his  only  hope  was  in  effectually  destroying 
the  water-hole  for  the  time  being  and  thus  render 
his  enemies  powerless." 

"  And  did  it  all  pan  out  as  he  had  planned?  " 
asked  White. 

"  Pretty  much  so.  He  was  all  ready  for  opera- 
tions before  sundown,  and  when  the  time  came  to 
leave,  lighted  his  fuse,  mounted  his  horse  and 
dashed  away.  He  knew  that  the  Indians  would 
pursue  at  once,  but  he  counted  on  some  of  them 
being  injured  by  the  explosion,  and  this  would 
make  a  diversion.  He  didn't  make  more  than 
about  ten  miles  that  night.  He  was  worn  out  by 
the  occurrences  of  the  day,  and,  on  reaching  a 
spot  where  he  felt  himself  reasonably  secure,  went 
into  camp  for  the  night." 

"  And  did  he  reach  the  claim  ahead  of  the 
other?" 

"  When  he  reached  the  spot  at  about  noon," 
said  Dick,  toying  with  his  cigar,  "  he  found  him- 
self looking  into  the  barrel  of  Enrico's  Win- 
chester. Enrico  was  master  of  the  situation,  and 
made  him  disarm  at  once,  Middleton  taunting 
255 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

him  all  the  while  with  having  set  the  Indians  on 
him.  This  Enrico  stoutly  denied,  and  at  one  time 
they  nearly  came  to  blows  over  the  matter. 

"  The  chivalry  of  some  of  these  Mexicans,  or 
rather  Spaniards,  is  fantastic.  In  order  to  prevent 
himself  from  being  shot  he  had  been  compelled  to 
disarm  Middleton,  but  having  rendered  him  de- 
fenseless, would  not  have  harmed  him  for  the 
world.  In  fact,  when  the  time  was  up,  and  Enrico 
the  rightful  owner  of  the  claim,  they  went  back 
together  over  the  course  Middleton  had  come, 
apparently  the  best  of  friends.  When  they  reached 
civilization  again,  Enrico  insisted  on  replacing 
Middleton's  weapons  which  he  had  destroyed. 

"  Middleton  might  still  have  had  a  chance  at 
the  claim  had  he  wished  to  press  it.  According 
to  the  Mexican  mining  law  when  two  individuals 
apply  simultaneously  for  the  same  claim,  the  mat- 
ter is  decided  by  lot,  and  although  he  knew  that 
Enrico  did  not  have  the  means  to  hold  down  such 
a  concession,  but  would  probably  transfer  it  to  the 
Don  for  a  small  consideration,  he  made  no  further 
attempts  in  the  matter.  Enrico  had  treated  him 
white  when  he  had  him  in  his  power,  and  he  was 
not  the  man  to  forget  such  a  thing." 

"And  what  about  the  Yaquis?"  asked  Fill- 
more, "and  the  water-hole?  Was  that  de- 
stroyed? " 

256 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  It  was  spoiled  for  the  time  being  all  right," 
replied  Dick.  "  As  for  the  Indians,  no  sign  of 
them  was  to  be  seen.  They  may  have  reached 
water  unknown  to  Middleton;  at  all  events,  the 
two  men  saw  nothing  of  them,  and  got  back  with- 
out incident. 

Before  mounting,  Dick  tendered  the  hospitality 
of  the  Summer  Camp  that  was  to  be,  to  Fillmore 
and  his  friends.  "  Should  any  of  your  party  wish 
to  join  ours  in  making  a  summer  camp  in  Cali- 
fornia," said  he  to  Fillmore,  "  it  will  be  all  right. 
Don't  you  want  to  come  yourself?" 

11  I'm  not  sure  but  I'll  go  East  this  summer. 
Anyhow  I'll  remain  until  the  heat  drives  me  out. 
I  never  make  up  my  mind  on  any  course  until  I'm 
compelled  to." 

"  We'll  take  the  evening  train  out  to-night. 
We'll  stop  and  see  you  on  our  return.  We  can 
tell  then  all  about  the  Summer  Camp,  and  perhaps 
you'll  make  up  your  mind  to  join  the  party.  The 
more  that  camp  together  within  certain  limits,  the 
better." 

"  I'll  speak  to  the  others  about  it.  No  doubt 
several  will  want  to  come,"  replied  Fillmore,  and 
then  the  party  pushed  forward  again,  reaching 
the  city  in  season  to  enable  them  to  take  a  bath 
before  supper. 

As  the  cavalcade  turned  a  corner  on  the  way  to 
257 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  hotel,  the  party  heard  a  halloo  evidently  di- 
rected to  White  from  some  one  coming  from  an 
opposite  direction.  It  proved  to  be  an  acquaint- 
ance whom  he  had  known  in  Prescott  the  previous 
summer.  His  first  inquiry  was  for  Blakeslee. 
"  How's  your  old  partner  Blakeslee  ?  I've  often 
thought  of  you  two  fellows  camping  there  under 
the  big  pine,  you  got  along  so  well  together."  A 
shadow  flitted  across  White's  face.  The  other 
understood  and  turned  the  conversation.  But 
when  he  parted  from  him  it  was  with  an  extra 
pressure  of  the  hand. 


258 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  sound  sleep  incidental  to  nights  passed 
under  the  stars,  gave  Branscombe  a  feel- 
ing of  vigor  and  a  joy  in  living,  which  after  all 
these  months  was  still  a  novelty  to  him.  The 
nights  brought  him  accessions  of  strength.  It 
seemed  as  if,  during  the  sound  sleep  which  he 
enjoyed,  the  spirit  drew  from  some  unknown 
source  influx  of  sanity,  of  wisdom,  which  was 
making  another  man  of  him,  giving  him  an  alto- 
gether better  outlook  on  life.  The  days  severally 
came  to  be  of  importance,  "  a  stately  procession 
to  unheard-of  music,"  the  nights  periods  of  ex- 
pansion, growth. 

As  foreseen  by  Fillmore,  he  became  so  much 
interested  by  the  success  of  the  casino  and  bath- 
house, that  he  began  to  consider  placing  the  Camp 
on  a  permanent  basis.  The  little  he  had  done 
hitherto — tentative  as  it  was — held  advantages  to 
the  others  which  were  so  apparent  that  he  found 
himself  taking  the  keenest  interest  in  planning 
further  conveniences. 

A  conversation  he  held  with  Fillmore  and 
259 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

White,  in  the  latter's  tent  one  evening,  helped 
bring  him  to  a  decision  in  the  matter.  Fillmore 
had  remarked  that  Alford  would  in  all  probability 
still  be  living,  and  on  the  road  to  recovery,  had  he 
been  placed  in  a  well-organized  health  camp  a 
year  or  even  six  months  earlier. 

"  Alford's  death  was  uncalled  for,"  said  he. 
11  From  what  I  can  gather  of  his  case,  he  might 
have  pulled  through,  or  at  least  have  prolonged 
his  life  for  some  years.  When  I  first  took  his 
temperature,  three  months  or  more  before  he  died, 
I  advised  him  to  go  to  bed  and  stay  there,  telling 
him  that  with  rest  in  a  recumbent  posture  for  a 
month  or  two,  the  fever  might  be  controlled.  In 
a  regular,  organized  camp,  one  of  the  best  fea- 
tures is  the  discipline  that  is  maintained.  Had 
Alford  been  required  to  follow  instructions  the 
outcome  might  have  been  quite  otherwise.  True, 
his  reason  for  not  doing  so  was  a  good  enough 
one.  Being  alone,  he  would  have  no  one  to  do 
things  for  him  he  said.  I  met  this  objection,  how- 
ever, by  telling  him  that  he  could  eat  half-a-dozen 
raw  eggs  a  day,  which  with  milk  and  possibly 
some  of  the  pre-digested  breakfast  food,  would 
be  nourishment  enough.  The  others  would  make 
his  purchases  and  render  him  such  other  assistance 
as  was  necessary." 

"  '  The  others/  said  he,  (  are  sick  themselves; 
260 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

they  couldn't  be  expected  to  wait  on  me.     They 
have  all  they  can  do  to  meet  their  own  require- 


ments.' " 


"  A  health  camp  like  the  Denver  institution  is 
something  that  is  greatly  needed  here,"  remarked 
White.  "  Not  one  out  of  fifty  that  come  here  can 
afford  to  pay  more  than  twenty-five  dollars  per 
month.  In  most  cases,  the  money  has  to  be  earned 
first  by  their  relatives  at  home.  Managed  in  a 
businesslike  manner,  such  an  institution  can  be 
made  almost  self-supporting  at  that  price.  This, 
of  course,  would  include  medical  attendance.  In 
what  other  field  of  effort  could  an  original  ex- 
penditure of  a  few  thousands  be  made  to  yield 
such  yearly  results?  If  provision  were  made  for 
health-seekers  so  that  on  arrival  they  could  go 
right  into  some  well-managed  camp — the  think- 
ing and  planning  having  already  been  done  for 
them — a  much  greater  percentage  of  cures  would 
be  effected.  The  worry  that  would  thereby  be 
averted  can  hardly  be  calculated,  and  this  from  a 
class  who  have  enough  to  endure  as  it  is.  What 
I  went  through  in  worrying  before  I  got  settled 
I  could  not  describe,  and  it  could  not  be  under- 
stood by  any  one  in  health." 

44  The  invalid  on  arrival,  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land,  often  sick  from  the  hardships  of  the  journey, 
is  not  in  physical  condition  to  select  a  site  and  make 
261 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

his  camp  purchases,"  affirmed  Fillmore.  "  I  came 
alone;  and  the  difficulties  ahead  caused  me  much 
anxiety  even  before  arrival,  as  I  didn't  know  what 
was  required.  Many,  in  their  exhausted  condition, 
even  put  up  their  tents.  All  this  tends  against 
recovery." 

"  I  happen  to  know,"  adduced  White,  M  that 
the  worry  incidental  to  selecting  a  location  and 
buying  and  furnishing  the  tent,  has  injured  the 
invalid  in  a  number  of  cases.  There  is  an  instance 
of  it  right  in  our  Camp.  Then  too,  it  always  costs 
more  than  they  at  first  think  it  will,  and  in  some 
cases,  when  all  is  paid,  they  are  frightened  at 
the  depletion  of  their  little  capital.  This  leads 
them  to  economize  in  their  food,  which  of  itself  is 
enough  to  retard  recovery,  or  even  make  it  im- 
possible." 

While  White  was  speaking,  Branscombe's  gaze 
had  rested  once  or  twice  on  the  water-color  which 
Blakeslee  had  painted  for  him,  and  which  had 
been  delivered  to  him  by  the  ranchman.  At  a 
pause  in  the  conversation,  Branscombe,  indicating 
the  picture,  which  was  pinned  carelessly  to  one 
of  the  cross-beams  of  the  tent-house,  asked: 

"That    an    Arizona    scene?"      Then,    going 

nearer — "  It's  very  good."     He  regarded  it  with 

the  interest  which  the  connoisseur  accords  a  work 

of  talent.      "  Good   composition,"    was   his   first 

262 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

thought.  "  The  mountain's  the  main  feature,  the 
file  of  savages  approaching  it  at  the  right  as  if 
coming  to  worship  being  subsidiary.  And  there's 
good  balance;  it's  better  not  to  have  put  the 
mountain  square  in  the  middle  as  a  lesser  man 
would  have  done.  And  the  chiaroscuro!  What 
would  not  the  Master  have  said  of  it!  Outside 
work,  of  course — middle  afternoon.  Nothing  of 
studio  landscape  about  this.  And  what  colorings ! 
How  marvelously  he  has  caught  momentary 
effects !  The  mountains  here  are  as  mobile  and  al- 
most as  expressionfull  as  the  human  face.  What 
a  radiance  of  light  and  color!  He's  an  idealist. 
He's  treated  it  imaginatively;  yet  I've  seen  the 
mountains  look  like  this  for  a  few  moments  at  a 
time.  To  have  a  vision  like  that  and  the  brain 
to  record  it !  " 

"  That  ought  to  be  under  glass,"  he  finally  said, 
addressing  White.  "  There's  good  work  there. 
Is  it  by  an  American?  I  don't  recognize  the  sig- 
nature, B.  If  you  will  permit  me,  I'll  have  it 
framed  for  you." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  White,  "  and  you  can  Kang 
it  in  the  casino  if  you  like.  That'll  be  my  contri- 
bution toward  the  work."  He  related  the  circum- 
stances under  which  the  painting  had  come  to  him, 
giving  him  at  the  same  time,  a  little  of  his  part- 
ner's history. 

263 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

11  Blakeslee,"  mused  Branscombe. 

"  Sandford  Blakeslee,"  interpolated  White. 
"  He  was  from  New  York." 

"  The  Sandford  Blakeslee  I  used  to  know 
couldn't  have  done  this  kind  of  work,"  was 
Branscombe's  comment.  u  It's  very  singular.  I 
knew  most  of  the  artists  of  any  distinction  in  the 
East,  at  least  by  reputation.  It's  odd  that  I  should 
not  have  heard  of  him."  After  a  moment's  pause 
he  added :  "  Better  let  me  send  it  on  to  Paris  to 
my  old  master.  I  think  they  will  be  glad  to  have 
it  on  exhibition  there." 

"  If  we  consider  what  it  costs  to  build  a  hospital 
and  keep  it  going,"  discoursed  Fillmore,  taking 
up  the  theme  again  after  the  little  interruption 
brought  about  by  Blakeslee's  picture,  "  and  then 
remember  that  the  same  results  can  be  secured  here 
on  the  desert  at  perhaps  a  quarter  of  the  cost  per 
individual  benefited,  it  would  seem  to  be  only  a 
question  of  time  before  enough  such  camps  will 
be  instituted,  to  provide  for  all  who  need  them. 
The  establishing  of  hospitals,"  he  went  on,  "  has 
from  medieval  times  on,  been  peculiarly  the  lux- 
ury of  the  wealthy.  This  modified  form  of  it  is 
within  the  reach  of  the  well-to-do  middle  class, 
and  from  this  class,  numerically  the  strongest, 
and  immeasurably  the  happiest,  should  proceed 
the  initiative  in  the  work." 
264 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Fillmore  had  become  greatly  interested  in  these 
sociological  subjects,  and  had  given  them  consid- 
erable thought  from  the  inception  of  the  work 
done  by  Branscombe  at  the  Camp.  As  a  physi- 
cian, he  saw  not  only  the  need  of  it  from  the 
humanitarian  point  of  view  of  relieving  suffering; 
he  went  further,  realizing  that  cures  could  be  ef- 
fected thus,  other  things  being  equal,  where  other- 
wise only  a  fatal  result  could  be  looked  for.  He 
had  seen  enough  right  on  the  grounds  where  they 
were  of  the  haphazard  methods,  or  rather  want 
of  method  that  characterized  individual  effort,  to 
bring  home  to  him  his  own  responsibility  in  the 
matter,  and  he  intended,  as  stated  in  a  previous 
chapter,  to  give  his  services  to  the  Camp  when  it 
became  a  permanent  affair,  a  result  which  he  confi- 
dently expected  would  come  to  pass  with  the 
coming  winter. 

11  When  any  one  succeeds  in  saving  a  single 
life,"  he  continued,  "  by  pulling  a  person  out  of 
the  water  or  from  in  front  of  an  on-coming  trolley 
car,  he  performs  a  feat  that  is  commended  by  every 
one;  he  himself  feels  that  he  has  done  something 
worthy,  something  to  justify  existence.  By  estab- 
lishing a  health  camp  he  can  do  this  on  a  larger 
scale,  and  it  becomes  increasingly  interesting.  It's 
a  work  worthy  of  one's  best  efforts.  The  tuber- 
culosis campaign  is  destined  to  become  a  great 
265 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

national  movement  in  all  progressive  countries. 
At  present  Germany  is  the  only  one  where  the 
problem  is  at  all  adequately  met,  and  the  assertion 
is  made  there,  that  the  disease  will  practically  be 
stamped  out  in  their  country  before  the  expiration 
of  the  first  third  of  this  century.  Of  course,  that 
is  Utopian,  yet  stranger  things  than  this  have 
come  to  pass.  They  have  no  natural  advantages 
in  the  way  of  climate  or  public  lands  as  we  have, 
and  they  deserve  all  the  more  credit  for  what 
they  are  achieving.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  work 
can  be  done  better  and  more  economically  here  in 
the  Southwest  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 
There  are  large  tracts  of  absolutely  worthless  land 
here,  to  which  water  for  domestic  purposes  can 
be  conveyed  in  sufficient  quantities.  Much  of 
this  desert  land  can  never  be  utilized  for  other 
purposes,  but  it  makes  ideal  sites  for  health 
camps." 

"  A  right  good  work  has  already  been  done  in 
our  Camp,"  put  in  White.  "  How  much  better 
the  Deacon  looks !  I  begin  to  think  now,  that  he 
may  pull  through." 

"  He's  a  very  intractable  patient  though,  for 
such  a  mild-mannered  man,"  was  Branscombe's 
answer.  "  He  does  all  sorts  of  things  he  oughtn't, 
and  omits  doing  what  he  ought  half  the  time." 

"  And  there's  no  health  in  him !  "  said  White. 
266 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  But  he's  in  much  better  shape  than  when  he 
lived  alone  and  did  his  work,"  asserted  Fillmore. 

11  I  don't  think  it  well  for  the  invalids  to  do  their 
cooking,"  remarked  White,  coming  down  to  a  nar- 
row and  personal  view  of  the  subject.  He  re- 
garded cooking  and  camp  work  in  general  with 
the  dislike  that  only  the  student  and  scholar,  im- 
patient at  interruption  to  his  work,  is  capable  of, 
and  he  looked  with  disfavor  on  all  plans  of  health 
camps  that  did  not  include  in  their  scheme  of 
things  a  restaurant  or  table  service. 

"  Diet,"  he  went  on,  "  is  as  important  as  pure 
air.  This  has  been  demonstrated  again  and  again 
by  those  qualified  to  speak  on  the  subject.  The  aver- 
age lunger  don't  know  how  to  cook,  and  don't  know 
what  he  should  eat.  It's  bad  for  him  too,  to  wash 
dishes;  he  shouldn't  put  his  hands  in  water  more 
than  is  necessary.  Then  again  the  labor  of  pre- 
paring his  meals  is  often  more  than  he  is  equal  to. 
He's  apt,  also,  to  be  too  economical." 

"  One  advantage  of  it,  however,"  averred 
Branscombe,  "  is  that  it  gives  them  something  to 
do;  although  I  agree  with  you,  that  they  are  apt 
not  to  do  it  properly,  and  to  neglect  themselves  in 
various  ways." 

"  Tuberculosis  has  invaded  every  family  in  the 
country,"  continued  Fillmore.  "  There  are  direct 
wires  on  this  question  from  heart  to  heart 
267 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

throughout  the  populace.  The  knowledge  that  it 
is  curable  and  preventable  places  an  enormous  re- 
sponsibility on  thinking  people.  As  Pasteur  has 
said,  it  is  in  the  power  of  man  to  cause  all 
parasitic  maladies  to  disappear  from  the  earth. 
Tuberculosis  will  continue  to  be  the  scourge  it  is 
until  adequate  measures  are  taken  to  stamp  it  out. 
We'd  come  off  much  easier  by  tackling  the  prob- 
lem efficiently  at  once.  We're  paying  a  heavy  price 
now  for  our  supineness.  Relief  for  the  situation 
is  required  of  us,  now  that  we  know  the  condi- 
tions of  the  disease.  The  longer  we  shirk  it  the 
bigger  the  penalty  we  will  have  to  pay;  for  pay 
we  must  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  That  over 
one  hundred  thousand  people  die  of  it  annually 
in  this  country  alone,  enduring  incredible  suffering 
meanwhile,  is  because  it  is  permitted  to  be  here. 
With  an  organization  competent  to  do  battle  with 
it,  the  disease  could  be  exterminated  in  one  gen- 
eration. But  the  task  is  so  large  a  one  that  only 
by  concerted  action  on  the  part  of  large  bodies  of 
people,  with  the  government  in  conjunction,  can 
this  be  brought  about. 

"  Our  government  ought  to  take  the  work  in 
hand,"  he  went  on,  "  just  as  is  done  with  yellow 
fever.  Tuberculosis  is  quite  as  communicable  and 
far  more  prevalent.  The  health  of  the  populace 
is  of  the  first  importance.  It  already  now  looks 
268 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

after  the  consumptives  of  the  army  and  navy,  and 
it  would  be  a  comparatively  simple  matter  to  ex- 
tend the  work  on  the  same  lines.  A  few  sections 
of  desert  land  in  Arizona  and  California  could 
be  set  aside  for  the  purpose.  Congress  then 
would  be  asked  to  make  appropriations,  just  as 
is  done  in  the  matter  of  the  Indian  schools  and  in 
the  irrigation  work.  The  rest  is  easy.  If  every 
consumptive  of  small  means,  or  without  means, 
could  go  to  a  government  camp  on  becoming 
aware  of  his  condition,  where  he  could  have  the  best 
of  care,  a  much  larger  percentage  of  cures  would 
be  effected,  and,  what  is  of  far  more  importance,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  spread  the  con- 
tagion. There  is  far  more  tuberculosis  to  the 
square  mile  in  New  York  or  Chicago  than  right 
here,  with  all  the  conditions  there  favorable  to  its 
development.  Living  in  a  lungers'  camp  as  you 
are,  you  are  really  not  taking  half  the  chances  of 
the  disease  that  any  resident  of  a  big  city  does; 
for  out  here,  in  this  dry  pure  air  of  the  desert,  it 
is  impossible  for  the  disease  to  propagate  itself 
when  simple  precautions  are  taken.  In  addition 
the  educational  part  of  the  work  would  be  vigor- 
ously pushed,  and  definite  results  would  soon  be 
forthcoming.  The  discipline  required  in  such 
a  health  camp  would  remain  with  the  graduates 
when  they  return  to  their  work.  There  would 
269 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

be  no  spitting  about  as  is  too  often  the  case 
now,  as  each  would  be  on  his  guard  against 
reinfection." 

"  It  will  eventually  be  brought  about,"  replied 
White,  "  that  the  government  will  take  hold  of 
the  matter,  but  it  may  take  time.  Much  of  the 
public  money  is  now  appropriated  to  utilitarian 
ends  of  less  importance  to  the  people  as  a  whole. 
Consider  the  money  that  is  spent  on  rivers  and 
harbors.  Necessary  as  that  is,  within  certain  lim-  ' 
its  I  would  rather  see  some  of  it  diverted  to  the 
relief  of  those  delicate  women  encamped  along  the 
roadsides  here,  alone  and  in  poverty,  making  such 
a  brave  fight  for  life." 

"  It'll  come  in  due  time,"  agreed  Fillmore. 
"  Of  course  there'll  be  opposition.  Take  the  irri- 
gation work  for  instance,  certainly  a  wise  and  sane 
measure.  It's  only  a  few  years  since  the  project 
was  first  broached,  that  it  was  properly  the  province 
of  the  government  to  take  this  in  hand,  as  it  had 
proven  to  be  too  big  for  individual  effort.  The 
idea  of  applying  to  the  government  to  reclaim  these 
arid  lands  originated  in  this  valley  I  am  told,  but 
the  man  who  had  the  temerity  to  propose  it  in 
the  first  instance  was  laughed  at  and  ridiculed  as 
a  visionary.  '  Why,'  it  was  contended,  '  should 
the  government  concern  itself  in  such  a  matter? 
It's  surely  not  the  function  of  the  government  to 
270 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

supply  the  rancher  with  water.  As  well  lend  the 
miner  governmental  aid  in  getting  his  ore  out  of 
the  ground.'  Another  said:  '  Don't  expect  it  be- 
fore the  millennium.'  It  was  characterized  as 
chimerical,  as  socialistic,  and  the  very  persons  who 
were  to  be  benefited  by  it,  were  the  ones  to  '  knock  ' 
it  hardest.  The  following  year  it  was  taken  up  at 
the  Irrigation  Congress  at  San  Francisco,  where 
it  was  knocked  again  as  being  too  good  to  be  be- 
lieved in. 

"  At  least  the  government  should  look  after  its 
employees  when  incapacitated  for  work  by  this 
disease.  Government  employees  give  good,  faith- 
ful service  and  in  general  are  not  overpaid.  This 
is  especially  true  in  the  postal  service.  Many  of 
the  business  houses  throughout  the  country  help 
out  the  better  class  of  their  employees  in  a  slow, 
expensive  illness  of  this  kind,  and  surely  the  gov- 
ernment should  not  be  behind  its  citizens  in  this 
respect.  This  could  be  done  easiest  and  most 
effectually  by  establishing  camps  for  them  in  the 
Southwest  where  they  might  have  every  advantage 
that  modern  science  can  offer.  This  would  result 
in  saving  many  lives. 

u  It's  a  reflection  on  us  as  a  people,"  continued 

Fillmore,   "  that  we  should  be  behind  Germany 

in  our  facilities  for  attacking  the  problem.     With 

twice  the  population  and  perhaps  ten  times  the 

271 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

wealth,  and  with  so  large  a  floating  population, 
we  ought  to  do  far  more  than  other  nations  in  this 
respect." 

"  It  won't  long  be  so,"  predicted  White,  with 
difficulty  grasping  the  idea  that  we  are  behind 
any  other  nation  in  anything.  "  We  have  the  best 
climate,  and  the  money — two  great  advantages. 
A  good  beginning  has  been  made.  Most  of  the 
Eastern  States  have  at  least  one  sanatorium  ex- 
clusively for  consumptives,  where  patients  are  re- 
ceived at  a  nominal  charge — five  or  six  dollars  a 
week,  and  in  no  municipality  in  the  world,  is  the 
problem  handled  so  comprehensively  and  effectively 
as  in  New  York.  There  are,  too,  a  number  of 
private  individuals  in  various  parts  of  the  country, 
who  give  the  use  of  their  grounds  to  consumptives, 
and  aid  them  in  other  ways.  There  are  many 
well-disposed  people  of  means,  who  would  proba- 
bly be  glad  to  take  up  the  work,  pending  action 
by  the  government  if  they  knew  the  need  of  it, 
and  could  be  brought  to  see  what  results  can  be 
secured  along  these  lines." 

The  conversation  was  food  for  thought  to 
Branscombe  for  some  days  following.  Not  that 
he  hesitated  much  in  the  matter.  An  organized 
camp,  where  the  best  of  facilities  would  be  avail- 
able to  health-seekers  at  a  nominal  price,  had  been 
taking  form  in  his  mind,  subconsciously,  for 
272 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

months  past.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  logical  outcome 
of  his  mental  attitude  on  that  Christmas  eve  when 
he  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  guitar  in  the  other  tent, 
and  took  himself  to  task  at  his  inability  to  apper- 
ceive  the  pathos  of  the  pitiful  attempts  of  the  boys 
to  celebrate  the  holiday.  He  had  been  advancing 
toward  this,  step  by  step  from  the  time  of  first 
carrying  the  bucket  of  water  for  the  Deacon,  which 
little  act,  done  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  had 
really  led  up  to  the  purchase  of  the  land  and  the 
sinking  of  the  well. 

The  silent  influence  of  his  partner's  character, 
in  the  comradery  and  intimacy  of  camp  life,  had, 
too,  its  bearing  on  the  question,  as  well  as  his  own 
efforts  put  forth  to  aid  in  the  restoration  to  health 
of  the  other.  From  the  time  that  he  had  taken  up 
the  task  of  watching  over  the  Deacon's  health  in  the 
effort  to  save  his  life  if  possible,  his  thought,  occu- 
pied with  this  subject,  led  on,  insensibly,  to  a  wider 
view,  in  which  the  claims  of  others  as  well  as  his 
partner,  pressed  insistently  for  recognition.  Once 
enlisted,  his  interest  grew  steadily  though  imper- 
ceptibly, so  that  whenever  he  went  to  town  and 
saw  the  listless,  apathetic,  sad  faces  of  young  fel- 
lows, health-seekers,  chafing  against  enforced  idle- 
ness and  dependence,  hanging  about  the  saloons 
and  gambling  places  in  sheer  desperation,  or  from 
want  of  something  better  to  do,  all  that  was  noble 
273 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

or  generous  in  him  rose  up  in  revolt  at  the  wrong 
of  permitting  such  a  state  of  things  to  continue. 
The  commonest  instincts  of  humanity,  he  felt,  re- 
quired him  to  do  what  he  could  to  get  them  into 
a  better  environment. 

Surely  if  any  class  in  the  world  needed  planning 
for,  it  was  these  invalids  who  remained  in  town 
on  account  of  economy,  in  cheap,  ill-ventilated 
lodgings,  and  ate  at  the  common  restaurants, 
where  the  food  was  bad,  and  poorly  cooked. 
They  were  fighting  against  such  odds — how  great 
they  themselves  were  not  aware  of.  Was  ever 
situation  more  pathetic  than  theirs?  They  had 
struggled  so  hard,  suffered  so  much,  and  this  would 
have  to  go  on  in  crescendo  until  vanquished  when 
left  to  themselves.  In  general  they  were  but 
scantily  provided  with  money  and  were  required 
to  pay  well  for  everything  they  got.  It  followed 
that  they  got  but  little  of  those  things  that  were 
essential  to  their  recovery.  How  much  better  off 
they  would  be  out  on  the  desert  in  a  camp  such 
as  he  had  in  mind! 

"  It's  the  way  they  start  in,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  If  they  stay  in  town  on  coming,  it  gets  to  be  a 
habit  with  them  and  they  think  they  cannot  con- 
tent themselves  anywhere  but  in  town.  Those 
that  go  to  the  desert  on  the  start,  if  within  easy 
distance  of  a  car  line,  even  though  brought  up  in 
274 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  city,  usually  stay  and  are  content.  They  im- 
prove faster  and  feel  better,  and  this  encourages 
them." 

On  the  social  side  alone  the  advantage  to  them 
would  be  incalculable.  The  comradery  that  camp 
life  engenders — that  is  so  essentially  a  part  of  it, 
would  help  dissipate  the  sense  of  loneliness  and 
isolation  that  comes  over  the  invalid  when  alone, 
and  would  supply  one  of  the  requisites  for  regain- 
ing health. 

And  from  every  other  point  of  view  their  con- 
dition would  be  greatly  improved.  For  the 
same  outlay  which  in  town  procured  for  them  only 
the  scantiest  means  of  existence,  ill-ventilated  rooms 
and  a  regimen  wholly  inadequate  and  insufficient 
to  their  needs,  making  recovery  next  to  impossible 
— for  the  same  outlay,  everything  necessary  to 
their  comfort  and  restoration  to  health  could 
be  supplied  in  such  a  health  camp  as  he  had  in 
view. 

The  next  move  would  be  to  buy  a  small  ranch, 
good  irrigable  land,  on  which  horses,  cows  and 
poultry  could  be  kept.  He  had  long  contemplated 
this,  desiring  to  have  a  comfortable  place  for  the 
Deacon's  wife  to  come  to.  He  knew  of  such  a 
place  near  by,  and  would  complete  the  purchase 
without  delay.  The  ranch  when  in  running  order 
would  supply  the  Camp  with  an  abundance  of  milk 
275 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

and  cream,  butter  and  eggs — in  short,  a  large  part 
of  the  supplies  needed,  and  at  a  minimum  cost. 

He  would  also  buy  a  tract  adjoining  the  present 
camp-site,  so  as  to  have  plenty  of  room.  The 
tents  now  on  the  ground,  owned  by  those  occupy- 
ing them  could  be  taken  care  of  during  the  sum- 
mer for  the  owners,  if  desired,  and  would  be  ready 
for  occupancy  in  the  fall.  He  would  put  up  a 
dozen  tent-houses  during  the  summer  for  new- 
comers and  have  them  comfortably  furnished,  and 
would  add  to  them  on  occasion. 

His  living  expenses  out  here  were  nominal  com- 
pared to  what  he  had  been  accustomed  to.  Two 
months'  income  would  keep  him  a  year;  the  bal- 
ance he  would  use  in  carrying  on  the  work.  By 
intelligent  planning,  and  the  outlay  of  a  few  thou- 
sands, results  could  be  attained  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  the  cost  and  an  interesting  sociological 
experiment  inaugurated,  which  might  have  most 
far-reaching  results. 

His  sense  of  humor  sometimes  came  to  his  aid 
too,  in  these  days,  and  helped  carry  the  day.  It 
seemed  such  a  delicious  bit  of  pleasantry  which  he 
had  all  to  himself — that  he,  Larrimore  Brans- 
combe,  well  known  in  the  Tenderloin  and  in  the 
Latin  Quarter — that  he  should  be  living  in  a 
lunger's  camp  doing  relief  work;  there  was  some- 
thing droll,  bizarre,  fantastic  about  it. 
276 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Yet  no!  Halte4a\  Not  so!  The  individual 
that  looked  back  at  him  from  the  mirror  was  an 
entirely  different  personage  from  the  Tenderloin 
habitue,  sometime  occupant  of  Cell  No.  9  in  the 
Tombs  on  a  charge  of  manslaughter,  who  went 
by  that  name.  He  well  knew  that,  should  circum- 
stances compel  him  to  again  take  up  his  abode  in 
New  York  (a  most  unlikely  event)  those  places 
that  saw  him  once  would  see  him  no  more.  Some- 
thing other  than  desire  was  swaying  him  now — 
something  other  than  duty  even.  Rather,  he  was 
living  up  to  a  higher  expectation  of  himself.  A 
reversion  to  type  was  taking  place  within  him — 
the  Larrimore  type.  His  mother  had  often  com- 
mented on  the  fact  that  he  had  the  characteristics 
of  his  grandfather  Larrimore,  and  used  to  predict 
that  when  he  reached  middle  age  he  would  be 
much  the  kind  of  man  she  remembered  her  father 
to  be.  Environment  had  much  to  do  with  his 
mistakes  in  the  past,  but  the  past  was  now  a  closed 
book  and  it  began  to  look  as  if  his  mother's  pre- 
dictions might  come  true  after  all. 

The  most  selfish  of  us — and  it  is  the  misfortune 
of  humankind  that  we  are  overlaid  with  selfish- 
ness as  is  the  virgin  gold  by  the  tundra — the  most 
selfish  of  us  are  capable  of  living  nobly  in  the 
intervals  in  which  our  selfishness  is  relegated  to 
the  background.  Many  live  and  die  without 
277 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

knowing  the  potentialities  for  good  within  them, 
and  so,  perhaps,  miss  the  best  that  life  has  to 
offer.  Happy  the  mortal  from  whose  eyes  the 
scales  have  fallen,  who  has  come  to  a  realization 
of  the  high  possibilities  within  himself. 


278 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  secret  of  keeping  young  is  to  live  in  the 
future  not  in  the  past.  It  is  living  in  the 
past  that  puts  wrinkles  on  the  face,  dims  the  eye, 
blanches  the  hair,  renders  unsteady  the  gait.  Liv- 
ing in  the  future  of  necessity  begets  hope.  Plans 
are  always  a  part  of  the  future;  regrets  belong  to 
tke  past.  The  one  is  for  doing,  the  other  for 
undoing.  Hope  is  rightly  pictured  as  being 
winged. 

Now  that  Branscombe  was  living  subjectively, 
the  very  expression  of  his  face  showed  the  change. 
The  serenity  that  looked  from  out  his  countenance 
was  in  marked  contrast  to  the  unrest  of  the  old 
life.  Now  that  he  had  closed  his  mind  and 
thought  to  the  past — now  that  his  thoughts  dwelt 
habitually  in  the  future — the  result  became  appar- 
ent in  his  face  and  bearing,  which  showed  a  youth- 
fulness  and  elasticity,  contrasting  oddly  with  his 
gray-besprinkled  hair. 

"  Padre,  why  are  you  so  anxious  to  conceal  your 
identity  in  the  health  camp  project ?"  asked  the 
Deacon,  coming  in  on  him  one  morning  while  at 
279 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

work  on  his  plans.  He  was  standing  at  his  impro- 
vised drawing  table,  whistling  softly  to  himself,  at 
peace  with  all  the  world.  When  at  work  he  usually 
kept  the  curtain  down  over  his  screen  door,  an 
indication  that  he  was  either  absent  or  occupied. 
The  Deacon,  however,  being  a  privileged  char- 
acter, usually  came  and  went  as  he  liked. 

Branscombe  had  recently  effected  the  purchase 
of  his  ranch,  and  was  busy  planning  alterations 
and  improvements  to  adapt  it  to  the  new  purpose 
for  which  it  was  intended.  He  had,  as  a  matter 
of  necessity,  taken  his  partner  into  his  confidence, 
but  had  asked  him  to  say  nothing  to  the  others 
about  it,  giving  out  that  the  ranch  was  for  his 
personal  use  in  accordance  with  plans  formed  on 
first  coming.  They  would  know  the  circumstances 
another  winter  in  any  event,  but  in  the  interval,  it 
suited  him  better  to  keep  the  matter  quiet. 

The  party  from  whom  the  ranch  had  been  pur- 
chased was  leaving  for  California,  and  everything, 
including  live-stock  and  poultry,  went  with  it.  He 
now  found  himself  in  possession  of  half  a  dozen 
cows,  several  horses,  and  a  few  hundred  fowls. 

"  We  all  do  too  much  talking,"  responded 
Branscombe  to  the  Deacon's  query,  "  and  in  this 
kind  of  thing,  when  there's  much  talk,  it  generally 
ends  where  it  begins — in  talk.  It's  much  the  best 
way  to  go  ahead  and  do  things  and  keep  your 
280 


.-  This  Labyrinthine  Life 

mouth  shut.  One  cannot  stop  others  from  talking, 
but  one  doesn't  need  to  do  it  oneself.  I  have 
noticed,"  he  went  on,  "  that  talking  about  a  proj- 
ect, instead  of  helping  it  along,  generally  stops 
it.  My  fowls  display  many  of  the  characteristics 
of  human  beings.  Often  the  cackling  that  is  done 
in  the  poultry  yard  on  account  of  a  single  egg  that 
is  laid,  is  only  paralleled  by  the  commotion  some 
people  make  over  their  petty  achievements." 

11  That's  so,"  put  in  White,  who  appeared  in 
the  doorway  in  time  to  overhear  the  last  sentence, 
"  but  you  shouldn't  forget  that  there's  another 
sort  of  hen  which  will  quietly  steal  her  nest,  lay 
a  baker's  dozen  of  eggs,  turn  them  into  chickens 
in  due  course  of  time,  and  immediately  go  about 
obtaining  a  living  for  them  without  making  any 
fuss  about  it  whatever." 

"  I  haven't  had  enough  experience  with  fowls 
yet  to  have  heard  about  that  kind.  I've  always 
lived  in  big  cities,  where  you  never  see  them 
until  they  are  stuffed  and  roasted,"  replied  Brans- 
combe. 

"  You  see,  Padre,  how  easy  it  is  to  be  mis- 
taken," put  in  the  Deacon.  "  You've  been  reason- 
ing from  insufficient  data,  like  all  people  who  jump 
to  conclusions." 

"  You  always  have  data  enough  when  you  talk 
about  the  weather!  Whew!  isn't  it  hot  though! 
281 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

There's  nothing  problematical  about  that.  And 
they  say  that  it  gets  hotter  than  this  in  July," 
offered  White,  who,  in  flannel  trousers  and  fishnet 
shirt,  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  be  comfortable. 

The  question  of  where  to  pass  the  summer, 
toyed  with  all  winter,  imminent  all  spring,  was 
indeed  becoming  imperative.  A  few  of  the  camp- 
ers had  already  left  for  the  East,  and  some  of  the 
others  had  gone  to  Prescott,  the  higher  altitude 
of  which  rendered  the  climate  more  equable.  A 
general  exodus  seemed  about  to  occur. 

Two  fellows,  Walter  Howland  and  Arthur 
Wilkinson,  had  pooled  their  issues,  purchased  a 
team  of  bronchos  and  were  to  start  for  the  hills 
in  a  few  days.  Fillmore  had  endeavored  to  dis- 
suade them  from  the  project,  on  the  score  of  the 
injury  to  health  which  generally  resulted  when  in- 
valids took  these  trips,  but  had  failed  to  convince 
them.  He  had  been  giving  occasional  afternoon 
talks  to  the  campers  and  other  health-seekers  in 
the  vicinity,  on  the  subject  of  their  common  ail- 
ment, one  of  which  had  been  devoted  to  counter- 
acting the  tendency  of  some  of  the  younger  men 
to  "  hike  off  to  the  hills,"  as  they  expressed  it, 
with  the  advent  of  summer.  He  had  confirmed 
his  own  impressions  on  the  subject  by  data  obtained 
from  a  well-known  physician  in  town  in  which  spe- 
cific instances  were  given  of  deaths  resulting  from 
282 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  hardships  incidental  to  such  a  trip  in  a  coun- 
try like  Arizona. 

White  supplemented  him  in  the  effort.  "  Give 
it  up,  Willie,"  he  urged.  "  Roughing  it  is  not  for 
invalids.  To  ride  over  poor  roads  in  the  hot  sun 
eight  or  ten  hours  a  day  with  the  poor  fare  and 
the  hard  beds  that  you  get  on  the  road — it's  bound 
to  injure  you." 

Arthur  Wilkinson  was  a  young  man  of  sanguine 
temperament,  red  hair,  and  an  almost  diaphanous 
complexion.  His  chances  for  recovery  were  not 
considered  good. 

u  We're  not  going  to  rough  it,  we'll  take  it 
easy." 

"  You'll  have  heavy  rainstorms  to  contend 
with,"  warned  White.  "  It's  a  different  proposi- 
tion camping  in  Arizona  in  summer  than  what  it 
is  in  winter.  When  you  are  on  the  road  you  can't 
put  up  a  tent,  and  there  are  few  trees  even  to 
afford  shelter.  You'll  get  soaked  through  many 
a  time.  Give  it  up  and  go  to  Southern  California 
with  the  party  from  Camp  Bowlegs.  They'll  have 
things  in  good  shape  there." 

"  If  we  don't  like  it,  we'll  drop  it.  We've  got 
the  team  now,  and  ought  to  make  a  try  at  it  after 
all  the  talking  we've  done,"  rejoined  Wilkinson. 

"  Hot  as  it  is  here,"  persisted  White,  "  you 
would  do  better  to  stay  right  here  than  to  attempt 
283 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

such  a  trip.  You  need  rest.  This,  in  importance, 
comes  next  to  pure  air  and  diet.  In  your  case 
absolute  rest  would  be  the  thing.  You  ought  to 
lie  on  your  back  for  a  few  weeks  on  account  of 
your  temperature.  Get  rid  of  that  anyway,  before 
starting." 

White's  protests  were  of  no  avail,  and  it  was 
with  foreboding  that  the  others  bade  them  adieu 
a  few  days  later. 

Fillmore,  going  into  town  with  Branscombe  on 
the  morning  following  his  return  from  Bowlegs, 
acquainted  him  with  the  project  of  the  summer 
camp  in  California  and  of  the  proposition  to  par- 
ticipate in  it,  which  greatly  interested  him,  as  he 
foresaw.  Branscombe  decided  that  his  partner 
should  go  at  all  events,  and  also  intended  urging 
him  to  have  his  wife  join  him  there.  There  would 
probably  not  be  much  for  her  to  do  in  the  way  of 
teaching  during  the  summer,  he  reflected,  at  the 
old  home,  and  since  she  was  to  come  sooner  or 
later  it  might  much  better  be  at  once. 

On  his  return  to  Camp  he  sought  out  the  Dea- 
con and  broached  the  subject  to  him. 

"  Two  of  the  Bowlegs  people,"  he  said,  "  have 
gone  on  to  California  to  look  up  a  site  for  a  sum- 
mer camp.  As  soon  as  this  is  determined  on,  they 
will  communicate  with  us.  I  think  you  had  better 
avail  yourself  of  the  opportunity." 
284 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

11  I'll  see  about  it,"  was  the  Deacon's  response. 
"Shall  you  be  able  to  go?" 

u  Not  just  yet,  but  I'll  come  later,"  he  assured 
him. 

The  Deacon  had  not  been  doing  so  well  of 
late.  The  thermometer  had  begun  to  show  from 
two  to  three  degrees  of  temperature  each  after- 
noon during  the  past  week.  Hitherto  it  had  been 
normal,  at  least  since  he  had  been  living  with 
Branscombe.  This  periodic  rise  in  temperature, 
always  a  grave  symptom  in  the  disease,  can  often 
be  warded  off,  at  least  in  good  part,  by  absolute 
rest.  At  Fillmore's  suggestion,  he  lay  down  each 
afternoon,  and  was  told,  at  the  same  time,  that  if 
it  did  not  abate  by  the  end  of  the  week,  it  would 
be  advisable  for  him  to  keep  to  his  bed  entirely 
for  the  following  two  weeks. 

14  I'd  been  thinking  it  might  be  possible  to  stick 
it  out  here  this  summer,"  mused  his  partner: 
"  I'm  comfortable  as  things  go.  I've  always  liked 
warm  weather.  Think  of  the  inertia  to  be 
overcome,  to  break  up  and  locate  in  a  new  place 
six  or  eight  hundred  miles  away  among  new 
people." 

"  It's  the  piano  that  attracts  you  here,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Branscombe.  "  But  it  will  be  better 
for  you  to  take  a  rest  from  that  too.  Get  well 
first !    You're  living  too  much  on  your  nerve  force. 

285 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Go  to   California   and  imagine  you're   taking  a 


vacation." 


A  wan  smile,  in  derision  of  himself  as  much  as 
at  his  partner's  words,  was  the  Deacon's  only 
answer. 

"  You  couldn't  stay  here  all  summer,"  Brans- 
combe  admonished.  "  I've  learned  that  much 
from  the  ranchmen  here.  The  temperature  that 
you  are  running  now  is  due  as  much  to  the  heat, 
I  think,  as  to  your  piano  practice.  You  ought  to 
get  away  from  both.  You  shouldn't  attempt  to 
stay.  You  can't  afford  to  take  the  risk.  If  you 
stayed  here  even  half  the  summer,  you'd  be  glad 
to  capitulate  and  leave  then.  Better  go  with  the 
others.  The  Latimer  boys  are  going  and  proba- 
bly one  or  two  more  from  here." 

"  How  will  you  stand  it?  "  asked  the  Deacon. 

With  a  delicacy  that  had  not  originally  been  a 
part  of  Branscombe's  make-up,  he  refrained  from 
reminding  his  partner  that  he,  as  a  healthy  man, 
might  stand  with  impunity  that  which  would  be 
injurious  to  the  other.  "  I  don't  intend  staying 
here  throughout  the  summer,"  he  reminded  him. 
"  I'll  stand  it  as  long  as  possible,  so  as  to  get  the 
work  well  under  way;  then  I'll  go  away  for  per- 
haps two  months.  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Los  An- 
geles anyway  to  make  some  purchases,  after  which 
I'll  come  to  the  summer  camp  for  a  while." 
286 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

After  a  pause  he  went  on: 

14  Why  don't  you  have  your  wife  join  you  in 
California  when  you're  settled  ?  She  can't  do  much 
with  her  music  during  the  summer.  Since  she  in- 
tends coming  in  the  fall  in  any  event,  she  might 
anticipate  it  by  a  few  months.  The  Summer  Camp 
will  be  pleasant  for  her,  as  there  will  be  la- 
dies there.  She  really  ought  to  go  as  chaper- 
one,  as  otherwise  there  will  be  no  married  lady 
there." 

The  Deacon  had  no  more  objections  to  offer. 
"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  I'll  write  her  today.  It 
may  take  her  some  time  to  get  ready." 

"  You  had  better  take  things  quietly  in  the  in- 
terval before  starting.  The  others  will  be  ready 
to  go  in  about  two  weeks  I  think.  You  ought  to 
manage  if  possible  to  get  rid  of  your  temperature 
before  making  the  trip.  Remember,  you  will  have 
to  spend  a  night  in  the  sleeping-car,  and  will  be 
twenty- four  hours  en  route;  you  ought  to  be  in 
good  trim  when  you  leave. 

u  From  what  I  understand,"  continued  Brans- 
combe,  "  it  is  the  purpose  of  the  Bowlegs  people 
to  make  a  permanent  Summer  Camp  there.  They 
intend  buying  land  as  soon  as  they  find  something 
suitable.  When  the  purchase  is  consummated,  a 
piano  would  not  be  one  of  the  impossibilities.  I 
believe  you  will  be  very  comfortable  there." 
287 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  Yes,  but  it's  a  long  journey  for  a  few  months' 
stay,"  grumbled  his  partner  good-naturedly. 

"  I  should  think  one  might  find  as  equable  a 
winter  climate  in  the  desert  region  of  Southern 
California  as  is  to  be  found  in  Arizona,  and  it 
would  only  be  a  short  journey  to  the  habitable 
parts  of  the  country  when  summer  comes.,, 

"  The  doctors  have  a  theory  that  the  farther 
you  get  into  the  interior,  away  from  the  ocean, 
the  better,"  answered  the  Deacon. 

"  That  may  be  all  right  for  tuberculosis  while 
the  cure  is  being  made,  but  in  general,  the  nearer 
the  sea  the  more  vigorous  the  health  of  the  av- 
erage individual.  Goethe  had  already  observed 
this,  saying  that  he  considered  all  islanders  and 
inhabitants  of  the  seashore  in  temperate  climes 
far  more  productive  and  possessed  of  more  active 
force  than  the  people  in  the  interior  of  large  con- 
tinents." 

11  My  physician  was  very  decided  in  the  mat- 
ter," rejoined  the  Deacon.  "  I  brought  up  the 
subject  of  California  myself,  and  he  said  you 
would  find  as  many  people  from  the  Pacific  slope 
in  Arizona,  brought  there  on  account  of  tuber- 
culosis, as  from  any  other  part  of  the  country." 

"  Rather  a  case  of  drawing  false  conclusions 
from  right  premises,"  said  Branscombe.  "  The 
Pacific  slope  is  of  vast  extent.  While  it  is  no 
288 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

doubt  damp  immediately  on  the  coast,  this  does 
not  apply  to  the  interior  valleys  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, which  was  the  section  I  had  in  mind.  The 
summer  climate  of  California  in  general,  aside 
from  the  desert  region,  is  the  finest  on  earth  I  am 
told." 


289 


CHAPTER   XVII 

DICK  was  essentially  a  man  of  action,  the 
anti-type  of  the  dreamer  and  thinker,  and 
always  took  time  by  the  forelock.  The  tendency 
to  postponement,  that  snare  of  those  who  think 
rather  than  act,  had  no  part  or  lot  with  him. 
When  anything  had  to  be  done,  the  best  way  was 
to  go  straightway  and  do  it.  If  you  desired  any- 
thing particularly,  the  obvious  thing  to  do,  it 
seemed  to  him,  was  immediately  to  strive  and  work 
toward  its  attainment.  With  his  faculty  of  initia- 
tive, or  rather  his  power  to  overcome  inertia — 
this  factor  which  moves  the  world — it  seemed  diffi- 
cult to  understand  why  people  should  postpone 
doing  things  that  ought  to  be  done,  or  having 
things  that  seemed  desirable  to  have,  as  so  many 
did,  until  their  realization  became  impracticable. 
"  Whilst  the  water  of  life  is  within  reach,  die  not 
of  thirst,"  said  Hafiz,  a  precept  which  Dick  would 
heartily  have  indorsed  had  it  come  to  his  notice. 
Action,  even  in  little  things,  was  of  more  impor- 
tance in  his  philosophy,  than  plans  and  hopes  for 
290 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

heroic  enterprises,  which  may  never  come  to  frui- 
tion. Since  it  was  the  medium  through  which  all 
achievement  comes  to  pass,  action  became  to  him 
the  highest  virtue. 

When  a  realization  of  his  disease  first  came  on 
him,  Dick  spent  no  time  in  bewailing  it.  He  took 
a  thorough  survey  of  the  situation  and  then  laid 
a  comprehensive  plan  to  meet  it.  Fortunately  he 
had  sufficient  funds  to  enable  him  to  enter  a  sana- 
torium, which  he  did  at  once,  realizing  that  a  week 
of  treatment  on  the  start  is  equal  to  months  of  it 
afterward,  when  the  disease  has  been  allowed  to 
establish  a  foothold.  Here  he  was  a  most  tract- 
able patient  except  that  he  could  not  rest  content 
until  he  had  read  up  thoroughly  the  subject  per- 
taining to  his  disease.  The  importance  of  alimen- 
tation had  not  at  that  time  received  the  attention 
that  it  now  does,  but,  reasoning  by  analogy,  he 
made  his  inferences,  and  studied  dietetics,  which 
enabled  him  to  keep  his  stomach  in  good  condition. 
The  correctness  of  his  position  was  demonstrated 
by  the  record  which  he  established;  he  made  the 
most  satisfactory  progress  of  any  patient  there, 
and  was,  so  to  speak,  at  the  head  of  his  class  while 
he  remained.  On  leaving  the  institution,  he  did 
not  take  his  chances  of  city  life,  as  many  another 
would  have  done  under  the  circumstances,  but 
proceeded  at  once  to  Arizona,  where  he  had  re- 
291 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

mained  ever  since,  except  for  an  outing  in  Cali- 
fornia the  previous  summer. 

11  What  do  you  think  of  the  region  around 
Bakersfield?  "  asked  the  physician,  as  he  and  Dick 
were  discussing  the  topic  of  the  Summer  Camp 
while  speeding  westward. 

"  Rather  warm,  I  should  say." 

"  We  might  stop  off  there  for  a  day  or  two  if 
you  like." 

"  It's  got  so  late  in  the  season  that  we'll  have 
to  economize  time  as  much  as  possible,"  reminded 
Dick.  "  We  ought  to  make  our  selection  with- 
in a  week  at  least  from  the  time  we  leave  the 
train." 

"The  foothill  country;  wonder  if  that  would 
answer,"  mused  Myers. 

11  It  has  its  advantages,"  replied  Dick. 
"  There's  a  fine  section  about  a  day's  ride  from 
Fresno — the  Kings  River  country.  There  are 
ideal  places  here  for  our  purpose,  but  I  didn't 
want  to  go  so  far.  I  liked  the  wheat  country  in 
the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  too,  but  that's  about  as 
far,  and  I  suppose  would  be  considered  too  hot. 
It  did  not  seem  so  to  us,  while  driving  through  it, 
however.  All  in  all,  the  foothill  country  would 
probably  be  the  best,  take  it  the  summer  through." 

"  My  experience  of  California  is  confined  to 
Los  Angeles  and  San  Diego,  and  that  only  in 
292 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

winter.     I'm  not  of  much  use  in  this  part  of  the 
work." 

u  The  wheat  fields  make  a  beautiful  environ- 
ment," said  Dick.  "  Seldom  will  one  see  anything 
in  nature  that  appeals  so  to  one's  sense  of  the 
beautiful.  The  prevailing  tone  is  the  yellow  of 
the  waving  grain  or  stubble.  Sprinkled  all  about 
on  this  yellow  groundwork  is  the  dark  green  of 
the  live-oaks,  while  above  is  the  intense  blue  of 
the  sky.  There  is  usually  some  breeze,  and  the 
polished  leaves  of  the  live-oaks  glisten  in  the  sun 
like  prisms. 

14  Bowlegs  is  at  an  altitude  of  about  two  thou- 
sand feet,"  he  continued,  "  which  would  seem  to 
be  a  reason  for  locating  the  Summer  Camp  some- 
where near  sea-level,  so  as  to  give  them  a  more 
radical  change  of  air." 

"  You  say  there  is  no  rain  or  dew  in  summer 
in  these  interior  valleys.  With  a  good  hot  sun 
above,  it  would  be  sure  to  be  dry  enough  any- 
where, one  would  think,"  said  Myers.  After  a 
pause  he  continued:  "If  we  could  find  an  un- 
occupied ranch-house,  it  would  be  just  the  thing. 
There  would  be  shade  trees  about  and  also  a  well, 
and  the  house  would  come  in  handy  for  cooking. 
Such  a  place  could  be  rented  for  the  summer,  and 
if  the  region  were  found  satisfactory,  the  purchase 
could  be  consummated  later." 
293 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  We  saw  a  number  of  such  places  last  summer, 
while  on  the  Yosemite  trip,"  replied  Dick. 
"  There  had  been  some  dry  years  previously,  and, 
where  irrigation  was  not  practicable,  the  owners, 
becoming  discouraged,  had  left.  We  camped  - 
overnight  at  such  places  several  times;  we  were 
always  sure  of  water  and  generally  fruit." 

"  Just  the  thing,"  affirmed  the  physician. 

"  I  remember  one  such  place  in  particular," 
continued  Dick,  "  but  it  was  pretty  far  north,  well 
on  toward  Stockton.  An  old  man  lived  there  all 
alone,  acting  as  caretaker  of  the  place.  He  did 
some  gardening  and  kept  chickens.  He  made  us 
welcome  and  gave  us  all  the  figs  we  wanted  for  the 
picking.  There  was  also  plenty  of  peaches  and 
plums.  The  house  didn't  amount  to  much,  but  it 
was  just  embowered  in  fruit  trees." 

"  A  summer  camp  in  such  a  place,"  said  Myers, 
11  would  be  like  the  monks  of  Theleme." 

Dick  had  never  heard  of  the  monks  of  Theleme, 
so  he  held  his  peace. 

"  Had  you  a  tent  on  your  trip  last  summer?  " 

"  We  had  one,  but  didn't  use  it,"  replied  Dick. 
11  We  made  our  camp  wherever  night  overtook 
us,  or  rather,  wherever  we  could  get  water.  We 
generally  retired  early,  getting  out  our  sleep- 
ing-bags soon  after  the  evening  meal  was  over. 
We  slept  so  soundly  while  on  the  trip  that  we 
294 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

were  always  glad  when  sleep-time  came  around 
again." 

"How  were  the  nights?  Were  they  ever  too 
warm  in  the  valley?  " 

"  Not  that  I  remember.  The  difficulty  in  gen- 
eral was  to  be  warm  enough.  We  always  slept 
on  the  ground.  We  entered  the  Yosemite  Valley 
by  the  southerly  or  Wawona  route,"  he  went 
on  narratively,  "  camping  overnight  at  Wawona. 
This  is  pretty  well  up  into  the  mountains,  and  it 
was  cold  at  night,  colder  than  we  liked.  It's  cold 
in  the  Yosemite  Valley,  too.  The  floor  of  the 
valley  is  four  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  and  is 
surrounded  by  snow-capped  mountains.  It's  sure 
to  be  cold  at  night  under  such  conditions.  We 
didn't  suffer  from  the  cold  while  in  the  valley, 
as  we  had  plenty  of  firewood,  and  made  large 
camp-fires  each  night.  We  kept  early  hours  when 
on  the  road,  as  I  have  said,  but  not  while  we  were 
in  the  Yosemite  Valley;  the  camp-fire  was  too  en- 
ticing. We  used  to  sit  about  it,  telling  stories, 
discussing  the  trip  or  speculating  on  the  route  to 
be  taken  when  leaving  the  valley.  Sometimes 
other  campers  would  visit  us  for  an  hour  or  two, 
attracted  by  the  blaze.  When  we  left  the  valley 
it  was  by  way  of  the  Big  Oak  Flat  route,  a  hard 
road.  We  camped  the  first  night  on  the  rim,  eight 
thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  with  snow  all  about 
295 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

us,  as  it  was  early  in  the  season.  In  the  East  this 
kind  of  thing  would  have  been  considered  a  great 
hardship,  but  we  didn't  mind  it." 

II  You  were  taking  chances  of  a  setback,  don't 
you  think?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

u  No,  I'd  been  living  in  the  open  air  nearly  two 
years  before  and  was  immune  to  anything  of  that 
kind,"  replied  Dick.  "  I  was  as  well  then  as  I 
ever  had  been,  and  had  been  accepted  for  life 
insurance  just  before." 

II I  think  I  should  like  to  try  the  region  east  of 
Bakersfield,"  declared  Dick,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  making  that  town  a  base  of  supplies.  The  Kern 
River  country  is  within  a  day's  drive  of  there.  It 
is  foothill  country,  and  I  believe  a  good  ranching 
section.  Five  or  six  hundred  feet  above  sea-level 
will  do  no  harm.  We  ought  to  be  near  a  good 
ranch  country.  We'd  better  leave  the  train  at 
Bakersfield." 

On  arriving  there,  they  proceeded  at  once  to  a 
sale  stable  in  quest  of  a  horse  and  buggy.  Dick 
had  a  good  eye  for  a  horse,  and  was  not  easily 
suited,  as  the  outfit  to  be  purchased  now  was  to 
be  retained  for  the  use  of  the  campers  during  the 
summer.  After  trying  several,  he  finally  made 
his  selection,  but  it  used  up  the  better  part  of  the 
first  day,  so  they  decided  to  remain  in  town  over- 
night and  make  an  early  start  in  the  morning. 
296 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

They  brought  their  sleeping-bags  with  them  and  a 
small  camping  outfit. 

11  It  will  be  fine  to  make  a  permanent  thing  of 
this  Summer  Camp,"  began  Myers,  when  they 
were  under  way  the  following  morning;  "  extend- 
ing its  privileges  to  others  outside  our  own  circle." 

11  We  must  have  a  ranch  in  connection,  where 
we  can  raise  walnuts  as  well  as  fruits,"  said  the 
practical  Dick.  "  We  ought  to  produce  all  the 
fruits,  both  fresh  and  dried,  as  well  as  vegetables, 
that  we  shall  require  for  the  Camp.  Of  course 
the  milk,  eggs  and  poultry  needed  should  come 
from  our  ranch. 

11  Such  a  ranch,"  continued  Dick,  "  might  be 
made  in  a  measure  self-supporting;  the  graduates 
could  remain  on  it  all  the  year  through  and  help 
carry  it  on.  Only  the  hardest  work  would  have 
to  be  hired.  The  amount  spent  for  walnuts,  eggs 
and  other  food  supplies  that  can  be  produced  on 
a  ranch,  and  which  are  required  in  a  health  camp 
is  considerable." 

A  ranch  which  seemed  promising  was  finally 
found  a  few  miles  out  from  Belleair,  the  terminus 
of  a  short  railroad  going  into  Bakersfield.  It  was 
within  an  hour's  run  to  town.  There  was  a  small 
house,  and  plenty  of  fruit  such  as  figs,  prunes, 
peaches  and  grapes.  Walnut  trees  too  were  scat- 
tered about,  but  as  the  nuts  would  not  ripen  until 
297 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

nearly  the  time  for  leaving  the  Camp,  not  much 
benefit  would  be  derived  from  them  the  first  sea- 
son.   There  was  also  a  good  well  of  water. 

Dick  planned  to  have  a  porch  constructed  abut- 
ting onto  the  house,  the  roof  of  which  was  to  be 
utilized  by  the  ladies  for  sleeping  purposes.  Ac- 
cess to  it  was  to  be  had  from  the  attic  of  the  house. 
It  was  to  be  of  generous  dimensions,  and  the  floor 
below  would  be  used  as  a  dining-room.  Trees 
screened  it  from  the  road,  and  on  the  upper  part, 
where  they  were  to  sleep,  spring  roller-curtains 
were  to  be  hung  a  few  feet  above  the  railing, 
which  could  be  fastened  down  in  case  this  was 
desired.  The  attic  would  serve  as  a  dressing-room. 
The  kitchen  was  put  in  good  shape  and  a  China- 
man engaged  to  do  the  cooking.  A  kitchen  tent 
was  also  to  be  put  up,  to  enable  the  ladies  to  do 
some  of  the  cooking,  should  they  desire  to  do  so. 
Nothing  was  to  be  done  to  the  interior  of  the  house. 
With  the  rooms  unfurnished,  there  would  be  no 
temptation  to  remain  indoors. 

The  use  of  the  place  was  obtained  rent-free  for 
the  summer,  in  consideration  of  the  repairs  and 
improvements  to  be  made  there.  If  satisfied  with 
the  location,  the  purchase  was  to  be  effected  before 
leaving  on  their  return  to  Arizona  in  the  fall. 

As  soon  as  the  location  had  been  determined  on, 
Dick  wrote  for  the  party  to  come  on.  Camp 
298 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

fittings  of  all  kinds  were  to  be  had  in  Bakersfield 
and  he  felt  sure  he  could  have  everything  in  readi- 
ness by  the  time  they  should  arrive.  In  all  that 
he  did,  in  every  plan  formed  for  the  comfort  of 
the  party,  Dick  had  the  stimulus  of  Nancy's  pic- 
ture dancing  before  his  mental  vision,  and  he 
achieved  wonders  in  the  short  time  at  his  disposal. 

Immediately  on  receipt  of  Dick's  letter  at  Bow- 
legs, preparations  for  the  exodus  began.  The  vis- 
itors had  been  happy  there,  it  seemed  to  them  on 
reviewing  the  circumstances  of  the  past  months. 
At  least  there  had  been  peace  of  mind, — which, 
for  an  invalid,  is  the  equivalent  of  happiness.  The 
circumstances  under  which  they  now  lived,  and  the 
improvement  in  health  that  each  had  made,  con- 
duced toward  hopefulness.  Although  some  had 
periods  of  loneliness  and  homesickness  at  first, 
these  were  soon  dispelled  by  the  kindly  attentions 
of  the  miners,  their  hosts,  who  seemed  to  make 
the  comfort  of  their  guests  their  first  thought. 
They  had  settled  into  a  rut  and  were  content.  Now 
they  were  to  try  new  scenes,  and  misgivings  as  to 
the  outcome  assailed  some  of  them  at  the  prospect. 

On  account  of  the  heat  it  was  decided  to  make 
the  wagon  trip  to  town  by  night,  as  is  the  custom 
in  Arizona  in  summer.  They  left  the  Camp  at 
nine  o'clock,  Berkely  and  Fullerton  leading  the 
way  on  horseback,  the  ladies  following  in  a  wagon. 
299 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

The  recent  showers  had  laid  the  dust  to  some  ex- 
tent, and  made  the  roadbed  harder.  There  was  a 
down  grade  for  the  most  part,  and  they  counted 
on  making  the  trip  in  comparative  comfort.  They 
were  to  ride  until  three  o'clock  or  until  the  moon 
went  down,  upon  which  they  would  make  a  camp 
until  daylight.  Although  the  stars  would  give 
enough  light  to  enable  these  practiced  men  to  find 
the  way,  it  was  deemed  best  to  lay  to  for  the  short 
interval  until  daylight,  to  enable  the  ladies  to  get 
rest  and  refreshment. 

Occasionally  Berkely  or  Fullerton  would  spur 
on  ahead  for  the  purpose  of  setting  fire  to  the 
thorns  of  the  giant  saguaro,  the  dryness  of  which 
caused  the  blaze  to  completely  envelop  the  huge 
cactus  for  a  few  moments.  Or  they  would  make 
a  bon-fire  of  a  patch  of  greasewood,  the  resin- 
coated  leaves  and  twigs  of  which  lent  themselves 
readily  for  this  purpose.  A  brilliant  moon  threw 
objects  into  strange  half-lights,  now  revealing  a 
belated  blossom  on  the  crest  of  the  giant  saguaro, 
or  shimmering  through  the  needlelike  foliage  of 
the  other  desert  growth.  Delicate  odors  from 
blossoming  plants  were  wafted  to  them  at  inter- 
vals. An  unreal,  mystical  quality  pervaded  the 
landscape  as  if  the  genii  were  in  possession.  Many 
a  mesa  on  the  way  seemed  enchanted  under  the 
spell  of  the  desert  night  1 

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This  Labyrinthine  Life 

To  these  desert  sojourners,  the  splendor  of  the 
night  was  no  novelty,  but  it  would  never  get  to  be 
an  old  story  either.  The  phenomena  of  Nature 
often  become  one  of  the  resources  of  the  invalid, 
whose  sole  hope  rests  on  an  outdoor  life.  They 
were  silent  for  the  most  part,  each  under  the  spell 
of  thought  that  comes  when  old  scenes  and  condi- 
tions are  being  left  behind,  and  new  ones  entered 
on. 

The  thoughts  of  each  were  busy  with  the  inci- 
dents of  their  stay  while  at  Bowlegs.  Nancy's 
were  not  so  entirely  centered  on  Dick  and  the 
twenty-page  letter  he  had  written  as  to  prevent 
them  from  roving  to  other  subjects — to  the  silent 
devotion  of  the  "  boys  "  which  had  been  expressed 
in  numberless  little  acts  of  goodwill,  not  alone  to 
her  but  to  her  companions  as  well,  but  which  she 
had  appropriated  almost  unconsciously. 

She  dwelt  too  on  the  agreeable  fact  of  her  im- 
proved health  and  all  that  it  meant  to  her.  This 
brought  her  thoughts  to  Dick  again,  from  which 
they  glanced  off  to  a  consideration  of  her  trousseau. 
After  her  marriage  she  would  live  in  town  a  good 
part  of  the  time,  she  hoped;  the  desert  was  well 
enough  for  a  while,  but  she  would  have  quite 
enough  of  it  by  the  time  her  cure  was  effected. 

Less  agreeable  were  the  thoughts  of  one  of  her 
companions,  Miss  Travis.  The  Camp  had  been 
301 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

a  haven  of  rest  to  her,  and  it  was  with  reluctance, 
amounting  almost  to  a  superstition,  that  she  found 
herself  leaving  it.  She  had  been  a  schoolmistress 
in  Chicago  with  a  widowed  mother  to  support. 
She  had  added  to  her  income  by  giving  lessons  to 
adults  in  her  spare  time,  and  this  burning  of  the 
candle  at  both  ends  had  the  usual  result,  her  health 
giving  way  at  last  under  the  strain. 

When  unable  to  work  longer  the  little  home  had 
to  be  broken  up.  With  a  portion  of  the  proceeds 
from  the  sale  of  her  household  effects  she  secured 
a  shelter  for  her  mother,  who  was  old  and  infirm, 
in  a  "  Home."  With  the  remainder,  she  felt  free 
to  go  to  Arizona,  trusting  that  her  money  would 
last  until  her  health  was  so  far  recovered  as  to 
enable  her  to  take  up  her  vocation  as  teacher  again. 
She  had  secured  board  at  a  ranch,  and  with  the 
utmost  economy,  had  managed  to  make  her  money 
last  nearly  to  the  time  when  the  opportunity  of 
going  to  Bowlegs  was  offered  her. 

But  the  interval — that  time  of  anxiety,  of  need, 
in  which  she  saw  her  health  slipping  away  again 
owing  to  insufficient  food  and  worry — it  made  her 
sick  with  dread  to  think  of  it.  She  had  not  known 
where  to  turn  or  how  to  extricate  herself  from  the 
difficulties  by  which  she  was  surrounded.  Posi- 
tions as  teachers  were  given  out  only  from  the 
beginning  of  the  term,  as  she  well  knew,  but  she 
302 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

had  hoped  to  have  a  chance  to  act  as  substitute, 
and  was  waiting  in  town  in  a  furnished  room  for 
this,  when  the  other  issue  presented  itself. 

The  miners  would  never  know — could  never 
•divine  from  what  abysmal  depths  of  suffering  they 
had  rescued  her.  The  respectful  deference,  the 
rough  courtesy,  the  silent  homage  which  character- 
ized their  demeanor  toward  her  had  made  them 
seem  almost  godlike.  In  her  imagination  they 
were  vikings,  these  strong,  efficient  men,  who  had 
made  the  earth  yield  up  her  secrets,  and  who 
seemed  so  unconscious  of  the  importance  of  their 
achievement.  In  her  chaste,  reserved  way  she 
worshipped  them  all  for  the  splendid  qualities  she 
attributed  to  them. 

In  especial,  she  remembered  Fullerton's  thought- 
fulness  in  offering  his  services  in  the  way  of  making 
purchases  for  her  whenever  he  had  occasion  to  go 
to  town.  How  well-disposed  he  was !  What  na- 
tive kindliness !  She  had  never  thought  that  men 
could  be  like  this. !  She  felt  it  a  hardship  to  leave 
the  Camp  where  she  had  met  with  such  kindness. 
She  had  associated  very  little  with  men  in  the 
thirty-two  years  of  her  existence,  having  early  set- 
tled down  to  the  life  of  an  old  maid.  It  was  new 
and  passing  strange  to  her,  the  attitude  of  these 
men  toward  women.  She  had  never  thought  that 
men  were  of  this  sort.  In  her  prejudices  against 
303 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

them,  carefully  implanted  and  inculcated  by  her 
mother,  whose  own  marriage  had  not  been  a  happy 
one,  she  had  hitherto  been  fairly  content,  but  now 
she  began  to  perceive  that  she  had  reasoned  from 
insufficient  data,  and  sometimes  felt  that  she  had 
missed  the  best  in  life  in  so  withdrawing  herself 
from  their  society.  All  the  feminine  instincts,  love 
of  the  home,  the  desire  to  beautify  and  enrich  an- 
other's life,  the  inclination  of  the  unselfish  femi- 
nine nature  to  make  sacrifices  for  others,  began  to 
assert  themselves  in  the  benignant  atmosphere  in 
which  she  had  been  living. 

The  improvement  in  her  health  had  been  pro- 
nounced while  at  Bowlegs.  The  pure,  dry  air,  the 
healthful  diet,  the  freedom  from  anxiety — all  con- 
tributed to  this  result.  Should  she  make  like 
progress  during  the  summer,  she  felt  that  it  would 
be  possible  to  take  up  her  work  again  in  the  au- 
tumn, but  the  prospect  was  not  a  pleasant  one,  she 
reflected,  while  she  blushed  at  the  thought,  and 
chided  herself  for  thinking  so  much  on  these 
subjects.  The  position  of  teacher  had  been  con- 
ditionally promised  her,  and  Dick,  importuned 
thereto  by  Miss  Berkely,  was  to  attend  to  the  mat- 
ter of  securing  it  for  her  in  her  absence. 

The  night  wore  on.  The  sky  was  cloudless  and 
thickly  studded  with  stars.  The  temperature  was 
perfect.  The  travelers  had  slept  a  few  hours  in 
304 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  afternoon,  and  were  in  good  mood  to  enjoy 
the  trip  and  the  novel  conditions  under  which  it 
was  being  made.  When  the  moon  had  set,  a  little 
after  three,  and  they  made  their  temporary  camp, 
it  was  as  if  the  last  scene  of  a  drama  had  been 
enacted.  The  remainder  of  the  journey,  made  in 
daylight,  and  through  level  ranch  country  for  the 
most  part,  would  be  commonplace  in  comparison. 

Some  of  the  boys,  on  returning  from  a  previous 
trip  to  town,  had  cached  some  firewood  at  this 
point,  in  anticipation  of  the  camp  being  made  here. 
When  within  a  few  miles  of  it,  Fullerton  pushed 
on  ahead,  and  when  the  party  arrived,  they  were 
cheered  with  a  camp-fire  of  mesquite  wood.  Coffee 
was  also  in  readiness,  he  having  brought  his  can- 
teen and  a  coffee-pot  at  the  saddle-bow. 

The  travelers  brought  their  blankets  in  the 
wagon;  they  would  be  needed  at  the  Summer 
Camp,  and  would  come  in  handy  on  the  trip. 
When  the  repast  was  finished,  they  wrapped  up 
and  disposed  themselves  about  the  camp-fire,  Ful- 
lerton and  Berkely  entertaining  them  with  stories 
of  mining  adventures,  until  it  was  time  to  make 
another  start. 

They   reached   town   in   good  season,   and,    as 

there  was  no  train  out  until  evening,  the  party 

went  to  a  hotel  for  the  day.     Berkely  intended 

going  to  California  with  the  party,  while  Fuller- 

305 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

ton,  after  spending  a  day  or  two  with  White,  was 
to  return  to  Bowlegs.  It  was,  too,  a  part  of  his 
mission  to  notify  the  Deacon  of  the  arrival  of  the 
others,  so  that  he  could  proceed  with  them,  White 
having  written  to  Bowlegs  of  the  Deacon's  inten- 
tion of  summering  with  them. 

When  Fullerton  reached  the  Camp  he  found 
White  busy  with  his  writing.  After  the  greetings 
had  been  exchanged,  and  the  message  given  the 
Deacon,  he  asked  him  about  the  novel. 

"  I've  abandoned  it,"  White  informed  him.  "  I 
began  to  find  that  I  had  bitten  off  more  than  I 
could  chew  I  I'm  not  in  physical  trim  for  any 
long-continued  effort.  I  have,  instead,  been  try- 
ing my  hand  at  a  short  story,  and  find  this  quite 
enough.  Thought,  as  has  been  said,  is  produced 
by  blood  pressure  on  the  brain,  and  I  can  well 
believe  it.  The  more  concentrated  the  thinking, 
the  greater  the  flow  of  blood  to  the  brain,  and  the 
stomach  is  thereby  robbed.  A  lunger  has  to  con- 
sider his  digestion.  Superalimentation  and  nutri- 
tion play  an  important  part  in  recovery.  As  it  is, 
I  am  at  present  able  to  eat  only  about  one-half 
the  amount  I  ordinarily  do  and  it's  on  account  of 
this  story.  Any  concentration  is  bad  for  an  in- 
valid.   It  takes  too  much  out  of  one." 

"Shall  you  stay  here  this  summer?" 

"  For  a  while  longer,  anyway.  The  story's 
306 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

about  done,  but  it  seems  as  if  it  would  never  be 
finished.  I'm  unable  to  present  it  as  it  stood 
out  in  my  imagination  when  I  first  conceived  it. 
There's  a  something  which  I  aim  for,  but  do  not 
attain.  It  eludes  me.  I  keep  adding  to  it  in  the 
way  of  interlineations,  which  makes  it  necessary 
to  blue-pencil  other  parts.  Then  the  page  looks 
like  a  hieroglyphic,  and  has  to  be  re-written.  And 
it's  telling  on  me.  I'm  running  a  little  tempera- 
ture." 

"  You'll  try  to  tell  me  next  that  it's  as  hard  as 
mining." 

"  Man,  it's  like  boiler-making.  You  just  have 
to  keep  hammering.  It  isn't  so  much  talent  that 
makes  the  writer;  it's  just  hammering.  Of  course 
he  must  have  ability — some  natural  talent  and  in- 
clination, but  this  won't  help  him  much  unless  he 
wants  to  work,  work  harder  than  a  farmer  or  a 
shoemaker.  It's  so  in  all  creative  work,  I  fancy," 
continued  White,  launched  on  a  hobby,  unmindful 
whether  his  auditor  understood  him.  "  The  writer 
may  be  the  scribe  of  all  nature,  as  Thoreau  averred, 
but  so  is  the  sculptor,  or  the  painter,  or  the 
musician,  and  it's  not  an  easy  job  for  any  of  them. 
Good  work  isn't  to  be  done  easily.  The  race  is  to 
the  strong,  not  to  the  swift." 

White  loved  flowing  periods  and  well-rounded 
sentences.  He  had  been  working  them  off  on  Fill- 
307 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

more  all  along,  and  was  glad  now  to  have  another 
auditor. 

"But  it's  interesting;  man,  it's  interesting,  this 
kind  of  work,"  he  continued.  "  If  it  were  twice 
as  hard  I'd  still  want  to  keep  at  it !  The  greatest 
pleasure  of  any  worker  doing  work  worthy  the 
name,  is  in  his  work,  but  it's  a  pleasure  he  don't 
get  cheaply.     He  pays  for  it  with  his  life-blood." 

11  This  man  Thoreau  was  a  naturalist,  or  rather 
a  nature-worshipper,  wasn't  he?"  mused  Fuller- 
ton. 

White  mentally  approved  the  distinction,  and 
nodded  affirmatively.  He  waited  for  the  other  to 
go  on.  Fullerton  had,  on  several  occasions,  sur- 
prised him  with  his  side-lights  on  literature,  and 
White,  with  the  instinct  of  the  journalist,  restrained 
his  own  inclination  to  talk,  so  as  to  give  his  com- 
panion a  chance,  seeing  that  it  was  a  case  where 
the  compensation  exceeded  the  sacrifice. 

"  I'd  read  portions  of  his  journals  in  the  maga- 
zines, and  was  so  much  interested  that  I  ordered 
his  works.  Now  that  I'm  stationary  and  better 
fixed  financially,  I'm  collecting  a  little  library.  The 
nature-books  that  are  now  flooding  the  market 
seem  to  be  mostly  an  imitation  of  Thoreau,  and  it 
seems  to  me  he  drew  his  inspiration  from  the 
classics.  One  would  think  from  some  of  these  later 
books,  that  nature-study  was  an  invention  that 
308 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

came  in  with  the  twentieth  century;  he  shows  that 
the  Greeks  and  Romans  gave  the  first  impulse 
toward  it." 

The  life  of  solitude  peculiar  to  men  situated  like 
Fullerton  fosters  a  habit  of  reading,  which  in  turn 
engenders  thought.  Their  isolation  gives  them 
the  time  not  only  to  take  in  thoughts,  but  to  digest 
them.  They  deal  with  elemental  things.  It  was 
the  shepherds  on  the  slopes  of  Chaldea  who  in- 
augurated astronomy. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  White,  "  this  Nature,  which  is 
so  be-praised  and  be-written  as  if  it  were  a  new 
invention  or  discovery,  has  from  earliest  times  on 
inspired  those  a  little  above  the  common  herd." 

"  But  Thoreau  went  further,  didn't  he?  "  ven- 
tured Fullerton  tentatively.  "  He  was  the  first, 
wasn't  he,  to  take  the  rights  of  animals  into  con- 
sideration? He  even  gave  up  fishing,  saying  it 
was  always  accompanied  by  some  loss  of  self- 
respect." 

11  And  he  never  used  a  gun,"  agreed  White  sen- 
tentiously. 

"  If  he'd  lived  in  Arizona  in  the  early  days,  he'd 
had  to  learn  to  shoot  straight  with  a  quick  aim  like 
any  other,  you  bet!"  rejoined  Fullerton,  lapsing 
back  to  more  simple  things,  and  speaking  from  a 
personal  knowledge  of  his  subject. 

He  had  brought  his  blankets,  intending  to  re- 
309 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

main  a  day  or  two,  and  readily  made  himself  at 
home  in  the  Camp.  As  stated,  most  of  the  others 
had  already  left,  dispersing  to  their  homes,  or  in 
quest  of  a  cooler  clime.  Branscombe  and  his  part- 
ner were  in  town,  the  latter  intending  to  leave  on 
the  night  train  for  California,  with  the  party  from 
Bowlegs,  so  that  the  Camp  was  almost  deserted. 

The  noonday  meal  had  been  eaten,  and  White 
and  his  companion,  sitting  under  the  shade  of  the 
cottonwoods,  to  which  spot  the  other  tents  had 
been  moved,  following  Branscombe's  example,  re- 
sumed their  conversation  of  the  morning.  The 
miner,  laying  in  store  of  entertainment  against  the 
summer,  began: 

"  You  haven't  told  me  about  your  short  story. 
What's  it  about?  " 

"  I'll  read  it  to  you  if  you  like,"  offered  White. 
"  It's  about  my  partner  with  whom  I  made  the 
trip  to  Prescott  last  summer." 

For  answer,  the  miner  settled  himself  more  com- 
fortably in  the  easy  chair,  and  puffed  away  at  his 
after-dinner  cigar.  White,  seating  himself  near 
his  companion,  began  the  story  of  Blakeslee;  but 
this  will  take  us  into  another  chapter. 


310 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE  amethystine  bulk  of  San  Antony,  loom- 
ing up  out  of  the  plains  on  the  Arizona 
desert  beholds  much  of  human  emotion,  of  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  life,  of  the  loneliness  and 
homesickness  inseparable  to  an  invalid's  life  in  a 
strange  country,  for  under  its  shadow,  many  an 
invalid  having  journeyed  from  afar,  seeks  shelter 
and  restoration  to  health.  With  its  constant  in- 
vitation it  beguiles  many  an  otherwise  weary  hour 
for  such  of  the  sojourners  having  eyes  to  see,  hold- 
ing out  hope  or  giving  back  consolation  in  return 
for  the  sadness  it  so  often  beholds. 

The  element  of  beauty  is  always  present  in  Ari- 
zona, although  it  requires  the  discerning  eye  to 
perceive  it.  Every  day  the  bright  sun  floods  the 
plains  with  a  radiance  as  of  summer.  The  level 
floor  of  the  desert,  be-sprinkled  with  mesquite  trees, 
is  spangled  between  the  clusters  of  dry  sagebrush 
with  delicate  flowers  already  in  February.  On 
every  side  the  horizon  is  bounded  by  the  sharply 
serrated  outlines  of  encircling  mountains  bare  to 

3ii 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  summit  except  for  the  giant  saguaro  and  an 
occasional  patch  of  greasewood. 

But  for  these  mountains,  Blakeslee  sometimes 
thought,  during  the  first  month  of  his  tarrying  on 
the  desert,  life  here  would  be  well-nigh  impossible. 
Encircling  his  horizon,  they  seemed  omnipresent; 
on  the  darkest  nights  he  could  perceive  their  huge 
outlines,  blackly  looming  up  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
stars.  Not  an  hour  of  the  day  but  that  they  seemed 
to  take  on  new  and  variant  phases  which  charmed 
him.  Beauty  pervaded  them,  mystery  lurked  in 
their  fastnesses,  and  he  often  sought  to  conquer 
their  distances  by  the  aid  of  his  field-glass.  They 
excited  his  interest  and  imagination  as  nothing  had 
done  since  his  sickness  had  come  upon  him.  With 
his  artist's  sensibilities,  alive  to  all  the  gradations 
of  their  panoramic  effects,  they  proved  to  be  his 
best  resource.  It  was  even  chances  that  he  was 
ever  to  get  away  from  this  valley  again,  and  he 
made  the  most  of  them.  They  invited  and  chal- 
lenged him  to  come  to  them  if  he  could,  and  he 
always  intended  responding,  should  he  ever  get 
back  his  strength. 

He  often  mused  of  the  period  now  past,  when 
the  Pimas  and  Navajoes  were  in  possession,  hunt- 
ing and  camping  under  their  shadow;  of  the  time 
when  their  retreat  was  invaded  by  the  missionaries; 
simple,  God-fearing  men,  who  went  forth  into  the 
312 


This   Labyrinthine   Life 

vast  unknown  at  the  bidding  of  the  Inner  Voice, 
enduring  incredible  dangers  and  hardships,  doing 
and  daring  so  much,  achieving,  alas !  so  little,  and 
that  little  even,  to  be  so  soon  obliterated.  Some- 
how it  was  a  consolation  to  him,  the  reflection  that 
nothing  whatever  remained  for  all  their  trouble. 
"  Like  my  own  case,"  he  sometimes  thought,  but 
without  bitterness,  impersonally. 

To  the  east  lies  the  Superstition  range — name 
pregnant  with  meaning,  eloquent  of  the  prospec- 
tor's mind  and  thought,  embodiment  of  the  cumu- 
lative fears  and  dangers  of  his  life.  Blakeslee's 
fancy  often  pictured  the  tales  he  had  heard  of  the 
solitary  prospector  penetrating  these  fastnesses, 
never  to  emerge,  dying  of  thirst  and  loneliness,  all 
at  the  lure  of  gold  or  adventure.  Or  his  gaze 
would  traverse  the  range  that  lies  in  the  way  of  the 
Verde  country  to  the  northeast — land  of  promise 
where  he  hoped  to  spend  the  coming  summer.  His 
imagination  always  pictured  it  a  region  of  pine 
trees  and  running  water,  with  herds  of  sheep  and 
cattle  and  prosperous  ranches. 

On  the  days  when  no  letters  came,  when  but 
one  or  two  human  beings  appeared  on  his  horizon 
— and  there  were  enough  such  days — Blakeslee 
was  sometimes  overwhelmed  with  the  bootlessness 
of  the  struggle  he  was  making,  and  the  tempta- 
tion to  let  himself  go — to  give  up  the  unequal 
313 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

combat,  would  loom  up  big  within  him.  Then 
perchance,  his  gaze  would  take  in  the  mountains, 
and  looking  up  into  their  transfigured  heights,  he 
would  lose  himself  in  simple  wonderment  at  their 
everchanging  hues,  at  the  majesty  in  which  they 
were  clothed,  and  somewhat  of  their  serenity,  their 
infinite  calm,  would  be  imparted  to  him.  Abashed, 
he  would  take  up  the  burden  again,  feeling  in 
some  way  that  access  of  strength  had  come  to  him, 
that  after  all,  life  was  worth  the  effort  to  save  it. 

Life!  This  congeries  of  contradictions,  "this 
chopping  sea  of  circumstance,"  in  which  he  was 
fairly  put  to  it  to  learn  how  to  trim  his  sails  to 
escape  the  peril  ahead.  Yet  how  he  clung  to  it, 
although  the  passing  months  were  bringing  resig- 
nation with  them.  Always  he  must  refrain  from 
doing  that  which  he  would  like  to  do.  Exercise, 
action,  work — the  very  things  that  promote  and 
preserve  the  health  of  the  healthy  individual,  were 
denied  the  consumptive.  Life  now  was  barren  of 
results,  a  complete  reversal  of  that  which  he  had 
always  desired  and  which  was  natural  to  him;  yet 
he  wanted  it  even  on  these  terms. 

Work!  Panacea  for  every  ill — that  he  should 
be  denied  this!  of  all  his  privations,  this  was  the 
hardest  to  bear  up  under.  He  never  realized  while 
in  health  what  a  resource  it  is,  the  dignity  that 
attaches  to  it,  the  permanent  results  of  it.  How 
3H 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

this  erstwhile  dandified  young  gentleman  with  his 
dress-suit  still  in  his  trunk,  envied  the  ranchman, 
with  his  herds  of  cattle,  his  alfalfa  fields,  his 
orchards  and  stands  of  bees!  The  world  as  ex- 
emplified in  the  old  city  life  were  well  lost  for  this. 

As  for  him,  all  that  was  left  now  was  to  play 
a  waiting  game.  Life  was  indeed  reduced  to  its 
lowest  terms ;  yet  even  thus  he  passionately  craved 
it.  There  were  potentialities  within  him  seeking 
expression  that  must  have  an  outlet.  Only  another 
opportunity  and  what  would  he  not  do  with  it! 
Only  some  years  of  moderate  health — he  laid  no 
heavy  demands  on  fate — he  knew  he  would  never 
get  to  be  old — only  a  little  more  time  in  which  to 
achieve  something  definite  before  passing  out  for- 
ever into  that  void  that  yawned  before  him ! 

His  body  ached  all  over.  He  had  become  used 
to  feeling  tired,  but  his  muscles  ached  more  than 
usual  to-day;  that  last  box  of  oranges  was  too 
heavy;  it  would  have  been  better,  he  reflected,  to 
have  left  it  on  the  bench,  instead  of  carrying  it 
to  the  pile.  Life  now  called  for  the  nicest  adjust- 
ments, the  most  delicate  balancing  of  cause  and 
effect,  and  with  it  all,  he  made  mistakes.  He  had 
never  previously  been  self-centered,  but  now  every 
act  had  to  be  weighed  and  carefully  adjusted  to 
his  powers  of  endurance.  Never  did  human  being 
require  wisdom  for  the  conduct  of  life,  as  does  the 
315 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

consumptive.  Infinite  patience,  too,  and  often 
resignation,  all  of  which  come  in  due  order. 

He  went  into  his  tent  and  broke  some  eggs  into 
a  glass  with  lemon  juice  and  swallowed  them.  It 
was  close  onto  noon  and  he  ought  to  have  pre- 
pared a  more  hearty  repast,  but  he  must  first  wash 
his  gray  flannel  shirt.  He  kept  but  the  one  in  use, 
which,  when  washed  at  noon  and  hung  up  in  the 
dry  air  of  the  desert,  would  be  fit  to  put  on  again 
within  the  hour.  There  was  an  irrigation  ditch 
near  by  from  which  he  obtained  most  of  the  water 
he  required.  It  ran  full  only  once  or  twice  each 
week,  on  which  occasions  he  would  fill  his  barrel, 
making  this  last  until  the  water  came  again.  For 
table  use  and  for  cooking,  the  well  at  the  ranch- 
house  supplied  his  needs,  but  it  was  a  long  carry, 
and  carrying  and  lifting  were  bad  for  him. 

He  lived  alone  on  the  desert  some  miles  from 
the  city.  A  daily  stage  passed  near  his  camp  bring- 
ing him  his  supplies  and  mail.  The  camp  was 
located  on  the  edge  of  an  orange  grove,  the  owner 
of  which  gave  him  occasional  jobs  at  picking  and 
packing  the  fruit.  The  fate  common  to  so  many 
consumptives  was  his — to  be  without  money  as 
well  as  health.  His  life  was  one  of  Spartan-like 
simplicity.  On  rising,  he  lit  his  fire  of  mesquite 
wood  in  the  cook  stove,  and  as  soon  as  the  interior 
was  warm  enough,  took  his  cold  bath.  He  never 
316 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

rose  until  the  sun  was  an  hour  or  two  high,  de- 
pending on  it  to  help  warm  his  tent.  By  the  time 
he  was  dressed,  the  water  in  the  teakettle  was  boil- 
ing and  he  would  make  his  coffee,  grinding  it  each 
morning  as  he  needed  it,  the  coffee-mill  being  fast- 
ened to  a  post  outside  his  tent.  Oranges,  toast  and 
chops  or  eggs  completed  his  breakfast.  He  would 
then  take  his  blankets  apart,  hanging  them  in  the 
sun  over  bars  put  up  for  the  purpose.  By  this 
time  it  was  usually  warm  enough  outside  in  the  sun 
to  sit  down  and  write  a  letter  or  two.  Then  the 
stage-driver  was  to  be  intercepted  on  his  way  to 
town,  who  was  to  post  his  letters  and  fill  orders  for 
supplies.  If  he  felt  well  enough,  an  hour  or  two 
of  work  in  the  orange  grove  followed. 

The  joy  of  working,  of  potency,  of  forgetting 
for  an  hour  his  illness;  this,  as  much  as  the  pittance 
he  earned  thereby  kept  him  at  it,  and  was,  indeed, 
what  had  brought  him  to  the  desert.  He  knew  it 
injured  him;  after  an  hour  or  two  of  it  his  muscles 
ached,  his  pulses  throbbed,  it  took  him  hours  to 
recover  his  normal  condition.  The  little  that  he 
earned  thereby  had  its  bearing  on  the  question, 
however.  The  demands  of  his  diet,  the  superali- 
mentation necessary  in  this  disease  was  no  incon- 
siderable item  of  expense,  but  it  was  only  one 
among  several.  His  tent-house,  blankets,  furniture 
and  cooking  outfit  had  made  serious  inroads  on  his 
317 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

little  hoard.  As  he  saw  it  dwindling,  the  money 
question  loomed  up  big  within  him,  and  he  began 
to  practise  economies  undreamed  of  in  the  old  days 
of  health  and  income.  He  often  thought  that  if 
he  did  not  have  this  to  reckon  with,  that  if  he  had 
sufficient  means  to  tide  him  over  for  a  year  or  two, 
so  that  all  worry  on  this  score  could  be  eliminated, 
he  would  have  a  good  chance  for  recovery. 

On  resigning  his  position  in  the  big  Eastern  city, 
Blakeslee's  firm  had  given  him  six  months'  salary, 
with  the  promise  that  this  would  be  duplicated  at 
the  end  of  this  period  should  he  still  be  unable  to 
work.  With  this  sum  he  felt  himself  justified  in 
leaving  for  Arizona.  This  was  his  second  winter 
here,  and  he  had  not  made  the  progress  toward  re- 
covery that  he  had  expected.  He  had  not  tackled 
the  question  rightly,  he  reflected.  He  had  lost 
valuable  time  that  first  winter.  Had  he  gone  right 
out  onto  the  desert  and  camped,  how  different  the 
issue  might  have  been.  But  he  was  not  prepared 
for  such  radical  measures  on  the  start,  and  re- 
mained in  town.  City  life,  even  in  the  Southwest, 
is  not  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  the  consump- 
tive, and  is  expensive  too,  as  he  found  out  by 
spring. 

Instances  are  common  in  Arizona  of  consump- 
tives being  cured;  of  people  who  had  come  there 
years  before  in  bad  condition,  now  going  about 

318 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

their  daily  avocations  looking  and  acting  very 
much  as  if  they  had  never  been  ill.  Blakeslee 
knew  of  a  dozen  such  cases  himself.  That  the 
prognosis  so  far,  in  his  own  case,  was  not  a  favor- 
able one,  he  also  knew,  and  he  began  to  see  that 
he  would  have  to  set  all  his  store  of  wits  to  work, 
in  order  to  baffle  the  enemy  that  had  fastened  itself 
on  him.  But  to  win  out  in  this  game  calls  for  a 
fortuitous  combination  of  circumstances  not  vouch- 
safed to  many.  The  key  to  the  situation  is  money, 
but  much  else  is  needed. 

In  the  free  and  easy  life  of  the  Southwest,  ac- 
quaintances are  easily  formed,  especially  among 
the  invalids.  With  the  approach  of  summer, 
Blakeslee  had  joined  issues  with  another,  and  to- 
gether they  purchased  a  team  of  Indian  ponies  and 
a  wagon,  with  the  project  of  journeying  north  by 
easy  stages  to  Montezuma's  Wells  and  the  Grand 
Canon.  Their  camping  equipment  consisted  of  a 
tent  and  blankets,  as  well  as  a  few  necessary  cook- 
ing utensils,  and  a  sheet-iron  stove. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Prescott,  however, 
they  had  enough  of  roughing  it,  so  they  sold  their 
team,  which  had  stood  the  journey  much  better 
than  they,  and  went  into  camp  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  city.  While  it  was  cooler  here,  this  was  more 
than  offset  by  the  altitude,  which  had  the  effect  on 
Blakeslee  of  making  him  nervous,  a  complication 
319 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

that   often   intervenes   in   these   dry,    stimulating 
climates. 

On  his  return  in  October,  he  located  himself  on 
a  strip  of  desert  land  near  town  and  the  car  line. 
He  was  fairly  content  here,  but  as  the  season  ad- 
vanced, others  came,  water  became  scarce,  and  it 
seemed  advisable  to  look  up  other  quarters. 

He  now  sought  advice  from  a  ranchman  whom 
he  met  in  town  as  to  a  camping  place  on  the  desert. 
The  ranchman  had  an  orange  grove  (desert  and 
garden  alternate  in  Arizona),  and  proposed  to  him 
that  he  come  out  to  his  ranch  as  he  wanted  some 
one  about  the  place  during  his  absence.  It  ended 
by  the  removal  of  his  menage  out  near  the  moun- 
tains, the  tent-house  having  been  transported  bodily 
on  a  hay  wagon. 

He  had  not  intended  locating  here  alone,  but 
his  companion,  with  whom  he  had  spent  the  sum- 
mer, and  who  had  planned  to  come  with  him, 
failed  him  when  it  came  to  the  point,  so  he  came 
alone.  The  life  seemed  doubly  lonely  after  the 
enforced  intimacy  resulting  from  his  camping  ex- 
periences of  the  previous  months,  but  he  made  the 
best  of  it,  thinking  grimly  that  it  was  only  for  a 
time  anyway,  that  either  he  would  get  better  and 
be  able  to  go  to  work  again,  or — there  was  always 
that  other  alternative  to  confront  him: 

Acting  bravely  a  silent  and  desperate  part. 
320 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Yes !  That  was  the  part  he  was  cast  for.  Story's 
lines  often  came  to  him  in  these  first  weeks  on  the 
desert : 

Who  strove  and  who  failed. 

It  might  be  his  part  to  fail  too.  Well,  he  would 
meet  his  fate  like  a  man.  That  is  the  way  of  the 
consumptive,  acting  his  part,  always  acting  it,  but 
always  bravely,  and  being  silent  over  it.  Face  it 
yourself  but  conceal  it  from  others,  lest  they  tire 
of  you !  and  you  need  them  so  much !  It  is  indeed 
a  silent  and  desperate  part  he  is  called  on  to  act, 
and  he  often  acts  it  so  well  as  to  deceive  even 
those  dearest  to  him.  To  look  on  death  with  un- 
flinching eye,  to  see  it  steadily  advancing  on  you, 
and  to  go  about  with  your  hands  in  your  pockets, 
whistling,  as  some  of  them  do  when  others  are 
about, — here  is  self-control,  fortitude,  bravery, — 
of  a  sort  than  which  there  is  nothing  on  earth 
greater. 

The  weary  and  broken  in  heart. 

How  well  the  lines  fitted  his  case!  The  Hymn 
of  the  Conquered.  Weary  and  broken  in  heart 
he  often  was,  but  not  conquered.  He  would  keep 
on  acting  the  part,  acting  it  bravely,  since  it  is  one 
of  the  conditions  imposed  by  the  disease.  And 
whatever  came,  he  would  meet  it  like  a  man.  No 
whining. 

321 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

In  the  intimacy  engendered  by  the  camp  life  of 
the  past  summer,  the  two  companions  occasionally 
dropped  the  mask, — stopped  acting  for  a  little 
while,  coming  down  to  hard-pan  facts  as  regarded 
their  chances  of  recovery,  but  only  for  a  short  time. 
Always  the  old  reserve  was  tacitly  resumed  the 
next  day.  Each  saw  into  the  other's  heart  and 
soul, — each  knew  that  the  other  knew  that  both 
were  acting  their  part,  but  it  was  kept  up  just  the 
same  as  being  the  right  thing  to  do  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. They  even  essayed  familiarities,  in 
mining  camp  style,  his  companion  sometimes  ad- 
dressing him  as  "  Pinky/'  after  finding  his  card, 

Mr.  Sandford  Pinkerton  Blakeslee 

and  this  was  acting  a  part  too.  They  often  essayed 
humor,  even  when  not  in  the  mood  for  it.  Know- 
ing the  importance  of  keeping  up  their  spirits  they 
aimed  at  an  optimistic  point  of  view  in  the  face 
of  most  discouraging  circumstances.  When  their 
letters  came  regularly,  and  were  perhaps  of  a  more 
satisfactory  nature  than  ordinary,  they  felt  them- 
selves justified  in  playing  pranks  even. 

The  liberality  of  his  employers  gave  him  a  fight- 
ing chance.     Without  it,  he  might  as  well  have 
received  his   death-sentence;   but  his  money  was 
now  three-fourths  spent,  and  his  physical  condition 
322 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

no  better.  He  must  make  every  dollar  count  here- 
after. If  the  balance  still  left  him  could  be  made 
to  suffice  for  another  year,  he  looked  forward  to 
having  his  strength  so  far  restored  as  to  enable 
him  to  do  some  light  work.  If  it  gave  out  before, 
he  well  knew  the  outcome,  it  meant  defeat,  death. 
The  silence  and  solitude  of  the  desert  made  him 
introspective;  he  arraigned  himself — his  old  life 
rose  up  in  judgment  before  him  as  he  came  to 
realize  the  part  he  had  hitherto  played  in  it,  the 
toy  he  had  made  of  it.  He  thought  with  contempt 
of  the  dress-suit  in  his  trunk,  and  the  patent-leather 
shoes,  and  the  shirts  with  cuffs  attached.  Cuffs! 
The  ranchman  better  understood  the  conduct  of 
life.  He  knew  better  than  to  give  his  attention 
to  superfluities  and  lack  necessities.  His  gray  flan- 
nel shirt  and  corduroy  trousers  were  worth  a  trunk- 
ful  of  such  truck,  he  thought.  The  folly  of 
bringing  them  to  Arizona !  It  was  on  a  par  with 
the  other  follies  of  the  old  city  life — of  the  dances, 
and  late  suppers,  and  the  foolish  talk  of  which  the 
dress-suit  was  but  the  fitting  concomitant.  Thus 
he  sounded  the  gamut  of  the  emotions,  and  wore 
himself  out  in  the  process. 

Night  brought  him  his  compensations.    Though 
the  days  were  filled  with  unrest,  the  nights  brought 
him  serenity  and  calm.    The  short  interval  between 
323 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

supper  and  bedtime,  usually  given  up  to  a  story  or 
two  from  the  magazines,  was  always  marked  by 
a  quiet  enjoyment  which  fittingly  preceded  the 
night's  rest,  and  was  a  kind  of  preparation  for  it. 
The  pure  cold  air  of  the  winter  nights  conduced 
to  sound  sleep,  and  the  regenerative  processes 
brought  about  thereby  were  apparent  in  mind  and 
body,  bringing  accessions  of  strength  to  each.  He 
always  felt  nearest  to  contentment  when  preparing 
for  sleep,  and  most  hopeful  on  rising  in  the 
morning. 

Sleep,  for  some  years  before  coming  to  Arizona, 
had  been  to  him  a  coy  mistress,  who  had  never 
distributed  her  favors  lightly,  who  had  ever  to  be 
wooed  by  ingenious  devices,  and  sometimes  in  spite 
of  all,  had  to  be  compelled  by  the  use  of  drugs. 
On  the  desert  he  was  able  to  sleep  soundly  through- 
out the  night,  and  it  meant  much  to  him. 

In  the  early  stages  of  his  disease,  before  he  could 
summon  resolution  to  break  with  the  old  life,  re- 
sign his  position  and  the  assured  income  that  went 
with  it,  leave  all  his  old  associations  and  go  among 
strangers,  the  nights  were  dreaded  by  him.  Strug- 
gling slowly  back  to  consciousness  from  dream-life 
on  those  bleak  November  nights  and  gray  morn- 
ings, the  full  realization  of  his  plight  would  come 
on  him  suddenly  at  the  last  and  with  overwhelm- 
ing force;  it  was  like  a  knife-thrust  in  his  vitals. 
324 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

It  was  never  so  bad  during  the  day  as  he  could 
reason  the  matter  out  with  himself  philosophically 
then. 

How  well  he  remembered  those  nights  now! 
The  sharp  pain  on  emerging  from  the  subjective 
state  where  all  was  yet  well,  back  into  conscious- 
ness and  a  life  where  all  was  now  ill  with  him. 
He  would  cower  with  apprehension  at  such  times, 
and  often  thought  this  was  harder  to  endure  than 
the  death  he  was  seeking  to  escape. 

His  cot  was  placed  on  a  platform  outside  his 
tent  with  only  the  stars  overhead,  the  absence  of 
dew  making  this  mode  of  sleeping  entirely  feas- 
ible. Sometimes  he  would  waken  about  midnight 
or  a  little  later,  and  the  splendid  pageantry  of  the 
heavens  all  about  him  made  the  awakening  seem 
a  privilege.  He  sometimes  toyed  with  the  fancy 
that  the  genii  had  awakened  him  with  the  express 
purpose  of  showing  him  the  beauty  of  the  desert 
night,  a  beauty  baffling  description,  and  which 
alone,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  worth  the  journey 
hither. 

The  clear  desert  air  seemed  to  bring  the  stars 
nearer.  There  were  so  many  of  them — the  firma- 
ment seemed  so  vibrant  with  life  that  his  loneliness 
and  sense  of  isolation  fell  away  from  him  in  their 
companionship.  He  came  to  feel  himself  one  with 
Nature,  brother  to  the  coyote  whose  querulous 
325 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

bark  sometimes  broke  the  solemn  stillness.  In  the 
immensities  which  surrounded  him  his  cares  of  the 
day  seemed  petty  indeed  and  fell  away  from  him. 
What  was  he !  he  reflected,  this  atom  in  Time  and 
Space,  this  ephemera,  to  rail  at  fate  and  mistrust 
the  Power  that  had  placed  him  here.  That  Time 
and  Space  exist  at  all — by  virtue  of  the  fact — comes 
its  inevitable  corollary,  infinite  justice.  These 
thoughts  brought  peace  and  content  with  them, 
and  a  perfect  calm  would  pervade  his  being  like 
an  aura,  sending  him  back  to  sleep  with  a  slumber 
profound  as  that  of  childhood.  The  stars  taught 
him  resignation. 

Opportunities  are  always  given  us  to  rise  supe- 
rior to  our  trials.  With  the  same  persistence  that 
Nature  repairs  man's  ravages  on  the  earth,  cover- 
ing broken  and  hideous  outlines  with  vegetation, 
she  heals  the  mind  too  of  its  troubles.  Every- 
thing in  Nature  is  prolific,  our  thoughts  most  of 
all;  it  is  astonishing  how  fast  they  breed,  and 
to  what  reserves  undreamed  of  they  lead  when 
allowed  the  right  direction. 

Through  much  introspection  he  was  becoming 
spiritualized,  his  mind  opening  to  spiritual  truths 
like  a  flower  to  the  sun.  Some  energy  seemed  at 
work  within  him  stimulating  thought  and  feeling. 
A  higher  life  than  anything  he  had  yet  aspired  to, 
seemed  often  within  reach.  There  were  voices  not 
326 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

to  be  stilled,  telling  of  potentialities  within  him, 
which,  given  favoring  conditions  might  even  yet 
be  productive  of  great  results. 

The  creative  impulse  began  to  waken  in  him 
seeking  expression.  His  artist's  sensibilities  found 
better  chance  of  development  in  this  desert  life, 
than  was  possible  in  the  old  life  of  the  town 
with  its  myriad  distractions.  Beauty  of  form  and 
of  color,  magical  beauty  diffused  itself  all  about 
him;  he  found  himself  daily  growing  more  sensi- 
tive to  its  influence.  Could  he  but  adequately  put 
this  beauty  on  record,  that  were  indeed  worth  all 
the  pains  of  the  past,  and  would  give  effective 
promise  for  the  future. 

Health,  open  sesame  to  all  the  gifts  of  the  gods, 
had  been  taken  from  him,  but  he  sometimes 
thought  that,  in  the  compensations  of  life,  it  was 
possible  that  something  even  better  was  like  to 
be  substituted  for  it — its  withdrawal  the  means  of 
bringing  out  latent  powers  hitherto  untouched. 
By  the  light  of  a  new  knowledge  which  had  come 
to  him  of  late  he  saw  that  the  old  life  of  health 
had  not  been  characterized  by  real  contentment — 
always  there  had  been  an  undercurrent  of  dissat- 
isfaction, a  consciousness  that  he  was  not  living 
up  to  his  best  powers.  In  the  retrospect,  a  key- 
note of  sadness  constantly  underlay  his  enjoyments, 
like  a  minor  chord. 

327 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

Most  of  all  in  his  dreams,  it  seemed  to  him  did 
this  altered  condition  in  his  mental  outlook  become 
apparent.  Even  in  the  old  days  of  health  (his 
sickness  made  a  dividing  point  in  his  life,  every- 
thing being  dated  either  from  its  advent  or  before) 
there  had  been  singular  features  in  the  dream-life. 
One  dream  in  particular,  which  came  to  have  an 
important  bearing  on  his  present  life,  had  come 
to  him  repeatedly  in  those  days.  There  were 
occasional  variations,  but  in  its  essentials  it  was 
very  much  the  same.  He  always  found  himself 
in  some  old-world  church  or  gallery  where  were 
paintings  which  appeared  to  be,  at  times,  his  own 
work,  again  that  of  others,  but  entirely  within  the 
compass  of  his  ability  to  execute.  At  such  times 
he  always  realized  plainly  his  calling  as  that  of  an 
artist,  the  critical  faculty  well  developed,  achieving 
without  surprise  to  himself  results  that  placed  him 
well  in  advance  of  his  contemporaries.  These 
dreams  made  an  impression  on  him,  so  that  at 
various  times  he  made  sporadic  attempts  at  draw- 
ing and  painting  in  which  he  showed  some  pro- 
ficiency. In  the  stress  of  business  life,  however, 
the  aspirations  thus  engendered  had  been  stilled 
almost  in  their  incipiency.  The  desert  proved  a 
better  environment  for  the  development  jof  the 
higher  life. 

He  long  before  had  discovered  that  he  could 
328 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

induce  sleep  when  restless  by  taking  up  the  inci- 
dents of  some  dream  and  carrying  them  through 
his  consciousness  as  if  occurring  in  real  life.  He 
now  went  a  step  further,  and  essayed  calling  up 
this  particular  dream,  in  the  effort  of  making  it 
come  to  him  at  will.  This  was  attempted  on  retir- 
ing, and  although  he  was  not  always  successful,  the 
dream  came  to  pass  enough  times  to  keep  his  inter- 
est in  the  subject  alive.  Aided  by  his  gradually 
unfolding  psychic  powers,  he  was  able  to  perceive, 
while  in  the  dream-state,  his  own  intelligence,  as 
it  were  apart  from  himself,  idealized,  heightened, 
augmented;  he  saw  this  other  self  expounding, 
analyzing,  giving  of  its  knowledge  to  others.  On 
awakening,  the  visual  impressions  remained  clearly 
in  his  consciousness  so  that  he  could  call  up  the 
picture  at  will,  but  the  ideas  that  had  been  ex- 
pressed remained  hazy  and  indefinite. 

He  began  the  attempt  of  so  charging  his  mind 
while  in  the  dream  with  the  ideas  which  were  be- 
ing expressed  by  this  other  self,  as  to  enable  him 
to  remember  them  in  detail  on  awaking.  Could 
this  ability,  this  pure  knowledge  existing  appar- 
ently in  such  superabundance  in  the  subliminal  self 
be  made  available  to  his  present  needs;  were  there 
indeed  such  reserves  for  him  to  draw  on ;  could  he 
bring  into  requisition  the  resources  of  that  other 
self;  what  possibilities  were  not  held  out  in  the 
329 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

prospect!  The  blood  tingled  in  his  veins  at  the 
thought.  A  year  thus  were  worth  a  dozen  of  the 
ordinary  kind. 

But  the  plan  did  not  give  the  immediate  results 
he  had  hoped  for.  Aside  from  the  vivid  picture 
of  the  dream,  he  was  unable  to  bring  back  to 
waking  consciousness  more  than  a  few  sentences, 
of  no  great  importance.  But  he  became  aware  of 
greater  receptivity  in  himself  while  in  the  dream- 
state  to  all  the  incidents  of  the  dream-picture ;  the 
paintings  began  to  take  on  a  new  meaning,  and  he 
came  to  note  points  in  the  architecture  of  the  build- 
ing, and  details  of  the  persons  assembled  which 
had  hitherto  escaped  him. 

Thus  encouraged,  he  continued  his  experiments, 
with  the  object  of  having  projected  on  his  wak- 
ing consciousness  the  frame  of  mind  which  pos- 
sessed him  while  participating  in  the  dream,  in 
the  assurance  that  some  glimmering  of  the  con- 
crete intelligence  of  the  other  self  would  thus  be 
retained. 

Apprehension  and  dread  were  expunged  in  the 
clearer  light  that  now  came  to  him.  The  mind, 
thank  God !  could  be  made  amenable  to  his  needs, 
even  though  the  body  was  failing  him.  By  con- 
scious direction,  by  intelligent  willing,  accessions 
of  sanity,  of  mental  poise  came  to  him.  The  mys- 
tical other  life,  deep  down  in  the  lowermost  strata 
330 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  his  consciousness,  to  which  everything  else 
seemed  subject,  claimed  his  attention  and  revealed 
itself  more  and  more  to  him  with  the  progress  of 
the  days.  He  became  conscious  of  mental  and 
spiritual  expansion,  of  development,  along  lines 
and  to  a  degree  that  formerly  would  not  have 
seemed  possible  to  him. 

He  was  close  to  the  eternal  verities  now.  The 
consciousness  of  the  existence  within  him  of  such 
potentialities  lent  dignity  to  life,  although  he  saw 
that  it  might  not  be  vouchsafed  him  to  live  long 
enough  in  which  to  give  them  adequate  expression. 
He  abandoned  his  ranch  work,  giving  himself  un- 
reservedly to  this  new  aim,  which  as  by  a  miracle 
had  come  into  his  life.  He  worked  at  his  drawing 
and  painting  every  day,  choosing  always  the  same 
hours,  working  to  the  limit  of  his  strength,  ad- 
vancing his  standards  as  his  work  improved.  As 
he  progressed  on  the  road,  he  found  always 
a  wider  mental  vision  opening  out  before  him, 
ever  a  readier  grasp  of  the  technicalities  of  his 
subject. 

That  his  work  became  all  in  all  to  him,  need 
hardly  be  said.  The  joy  that  only  the  creative 
impulse  can  give  was  his.  Life  or  death  mattered 
but  little  to  him  now.  All  the  bitterness,  the 
despair  that  had  formerly  assailed  him  when  con- 
sidering his  physical  condition  had  left  him.  In 
331 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  quality  of  the  work  he  was  doing,  came  his 
compensation.  For  there  was  the  artist  touch, 
now,  in  all  that  he  did.  He  knew  by  divination 
that  his  work  had  merit.  He  was  approaching 
the  goal !  He  had  always  known,  intuitively,  that 
he  had  it  in  him  to  do  good  work,  could  he  have 
given  up  everything  else  for  it.  Potentially,  the 
ability  had  always  been  there,  awaiting  develop- 
ment. 

And  now  it  had  been  brought  about!  At  last 
he  was  using  his  powers  worthily.  To  attain  to 
such  knowledge — this  is  the  supreme  joy.  Even 
though  he  had  to  be  brought  to  death's  door  to 
find  himself,  it  was  not  too  dearly  bought.  Life, 
in  the  illumination  in  which  he  now  lived,  was  in- 
deed a  precious  gift.  In  having  it,  he  was  much 
to  the  good;  it  had  been  well  worth  while — and 
although  he  realized  the  slender  tenure  on  which 
he  held  it,  he  could  still  exult  in  its  possession. 
That  his  work  had  merit — this  was  the  main  thing. 
What  did  it  matter  even  though  he  should  not 
live  to  see  it  recognized?  It  was  enough  to  know 
that  the  time  would  come  when  others  would  rea- 
lize its  worth,  beholding  it  with  the  admiration 
and  reverent  wonder  that  all  fine  achievements  in- 
spire.    The  great  reward  was  his  anyway. 

The  psychological  life  waxed  as  the  physical 
waned.  A  feeling  of  elation,  of  exaltation  tran- 
332 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

scending  anything  of  which  he  had  yet  conceived, 
at  times  overcame  him.  The  joy  in  his  creative 
work  suffused  itself  through  all  the  fibres  of  his 
being,  rising  on  rare  occasions  to  ecstasy.  In 
losing  the  world  he  had  gained  it  after  all. 


333 


CHAPTER   XIX 

FULLERTON  did  not  go  back  to  Bowlegs  as 
he  had  planned  to  do.  When  the  time 
approached  for  his  return,  he  found  himself  op- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  loneliness  at  the  thought 
of  the  depleted  Camp,  and,  while  it  was  his  custom 
usually  to  act  from  a  sense  of  duty  rather  than 
inclination,  duty  had  to  go  by  the  board  this  time. 

"  Go  back?  What  was  there  to  go  back  to?  " 
he  asked  himself,  while  his  mind  revolted  at  the 
loneliness  and  privation  of  it.  The  squalor  of  such 
a  life!  That  he  should  have  been  willing  to  live 
it  for  so  long!  At  last  he  had  summoned  the 
resolution  to  try  for  something  better.  He  decided 
to  go  to  California  to  the  Summer  Camp,  ask  Miss 
Travis  to  marry  him,  and  tell  her  the  story  of  his 
life.  He  would  show  her  the  letter  he  had  recently 
received  from  Mr.  Edmundston  in  proof  that  he 
was  legally  free  to  marry  again. 

Acting  on  this  resolution,  he  sent  his  ponies  back 
to  Bowlegs  by  an  Indian,  together  with  a  letter 
stating  that  he  would  not  return  to  the  Camp  for 
334 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

several  weeks.  He  then  told  White  of  his  inten- 
tion to  go  to  California,  but  did  not  mention  his 
ulterior  purpose. 

"  I'll  go  along,"  was  White's  reply.  He  had 
been  wavering  in  his  resolution  of  remaining  in 
the  Camp,  knowing  that  he  would  be  doubly 
lonely  after  Fullerton's  departure.  "  I'll  go  with 
you.  If  I  had  anything  to  do,  I  would  not  mind 
the  heat  so  much,  or  the  loneliness  either,  for  that 
matter.  Both  together  are  rather  more  than  I  can 
stand." 

After  the  departure  of  White  and  Fullerton  the 
Camp  was  practically  deserted  so  far  as  its  former 
occupants  went,  only  Branscombe  and  Fillmore  re- 
maining. It  was,  however,  a  scene  of  greater 
activity  than  at  any  time  during  the  past  winter, 
owing  to  the  steady  sawing  and  hammering  of  a 
corps  of  carpenters,  which  went  on  throughout  the 
day,  in  their  effort  to  convert  a  carload  of  lumber 
and  shingles  into  a  row  of  tent-houses,  in  the 
shortest  possible  time. 

The  grounds  were  rapidly  assuming  the  form  of 
a  tent  village.  The  cottages  now  being  put  up 
would  accommodate  twenty-five  persons,  and  when 
finished,  Branscombe  felt  that  he  would  be  justified 
in  taking  a  vacation  himself. 

On  the  morning  following  the  departure  of 
White  and  Fullerton  for  California,  Branscombe 
335 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

and  Fillmore,  driving  into  town  discussed  the  mat- 
ter of  bettering  the  Camp  for  the  next  season. 

UA  hospital,  or  rather  a  large  ward,  open  on 
three  sides,  with  nurses'  rooms  off,  is  a  matter  of 
the  first  necessity  in  a  health  camp,  so  that  those 
who  have  to  keep  to  their  beds  can  be  under  con- 
stant supervision.  Of  course,  this  involves  the 
expense  of  a  nurse,  but  it  is  really  one  of  the  essen- 
tials of  the  Camp,"  said  Fillmore,  whose  interest 
in  the  matter  was  equal  to  Branscombe's. 

"  It  can  be  managed  for  the  time  being,  any- 
way," replied  Branscombe.  "  I  may  as  well  tell 
you — you  have  probably  long  ago  divined  the  fact, 
that  I  am  alone  in  the  enterprise.  I  have  known 
all  along  that  you  knew  it,  but  it  seemed  easier  to 
keep  up  the  fiction  than  to  talk  about  it.  Since  I 
don't  want  any  credit  for  it,  there  is  really  not 
much  reason  for  my  being  known  in  the  matter." 
After  a  short  pause,  he  added:  "This  idea  of 
working  for  others  is  something  new  and  foreign 
to  my  habits,  and  I  have  to  accustom  myself  to  it. 
As  yet,  it  seems,  even  to  me,  often  only  a  pose. 
Selfishness  is  so  ingrained  in  us  that  any  divergence 
from  a  selfish  policy  lays  one  open  to  a  suspicion 
as  to  motive;  with  those  of  a  habitually  low  order 
of  thinking,  one's  intelligence  even  is  brought  into 
question." 

"  That  is  too  often  the  case,"  assented  Fillmore. 
336 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  Though  condemned  theoretically,  it  is  every- 
where tacitly  approved.  The  sin  of  the  world  is 
selfishness  in  that  it  leads  to  and  includes  all  other 
sins.  It  is  this  that  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  pole 
from  spirituality,  that  crowds  out  spirituality  in 
the  individual.  As  you  say,  it  is  ingrained  in  us, 
and  the  person  who  goes  counter  to  so  prevalent 
a  mode  of  thought  must  needs  have  singleness  of 
purpose." 

"  The  best  way  is  to  go  your  own  course  in  the 
old  Davy  Crockett  fashion,"  responded  Brans- 
combe.  "  After  all,  one  does  these  things  from 
inner  conviction;  not  for  the  approbation  of 
others." 

"  Have  you  decided  as  to  the  charge  that  will 
be  made  for  board?" 

11  Twenty-five  dollars  per  month  is  as  much  as 
they  can  afford  to  pay.  Few  of  them  have  means 
of  their  own;  many,  I  find,  are  supported  from  the 
earnings  of  mother  or  sisters.  If  all  were  able  to 
pay,  and  with  good  management,  it  might  be  made 
self-supporting  at  this  price.  There  are  boarding 
houses  in  the  city,  I  find,  setting  a  very  good  table, 
where  at  a  charge  of  thirty  dollars  per  month,  a 
fair  annual  profit  is  made,  and  this,  notwithstand- 
ing high  rents,  increased  servant  hire  and  other 
expenses  that  go  with  a  house  in  the  city,  which 
do  not  obtain  in  a  camp.  But  I  do  not  aim  to  make 
337 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

it  even  approximately  self-supporting.  This,  at 
the  price  charged,  could  only  be  accomplished  by 
being  stringent  in  making  collections,  and  this 
would  defeat  the  very  object  for  which  the  Camp 
is  projected.  I  want  to  make  life  easier  for  them. 
Worry  over  money  matters  kills  more  consump- 
tives than  the  disease  itself,  I  find." 

"  It  might  be  possible  to  get  contributions  from 
outside  sources  to  help  carry  it  on,"  suggested  Fill- 
more, "  from  the  tourists  and  townspeople  when 
the  work  is  once  under  way." 

"  Not  while  it  is  a  private  enterprise.  I  expect 
to  make  up  the  deficit  for  the  next  few  years  at 
least,  until  the  project  is  well  on  its  feet.  It  is  a 
satisfaction  to  me  to  do  this.  The  work  interests 
me  and  I  ought  to  be  willing  to  make  some  sacri- 
fices for  it.  If  it  grows,  and  the  deficit  becomes 
larger  than  I  can  meet,  I  will  put  it  out  of  my 
hands,  giving  it  in  charge  of  an  institution  like  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.,  or  a  committee  of  townspeople." 

Deep  in  their  project,  they  did  not  at  first  notice 
a  smart  turnout  approaching  them,  until  Fillmore 
chanced  to  look  up,  and,  seeing  the  occupant,  a 
fashionably  gowned  lady,  young  and  good-looking, 
gazing  at  Branscombe  with  a  slightly  bewildered 
air,  directed  his  attention  to  the  equipage.  As  he 
looked  up,  the  lady,  apparently  confirmed  in  her 
first  impression  as  to  his  identity,  gave  a  hurried 
338 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

order  to  the  coachman  to  stop,  and  leaning  out, 
eager  and  smiling,  extended  her  hand  to  him  as  he 
approached  the  carriage. 

"  Larry !  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are 
here!  In  Arizona,  of  all  places  in  the  world! 
We'd  concluded  that  you'd  gone  abroad.  To  think 
that  I've  been  in  town  almost  a  week,  and  not  have 
known  that  you  were  here !  " 

Branscombe,  though  feeling  very  much  as  did 
Robinson  Crusoe  when  he  first  discovered  the  foot- 
prints on  his  island,  nerved  himself  to  the  kind  of 
badinage  that  he  knew  was  expected  of  him. 

"  You  don't  say  you're  delighted  to  see  me. 
Whenever  I  used  to  meet  any  one  unexpectedly  in 
Florida  or  the  White  Mountains,  they  always  said 
that  first." 

11 1  am  delighted  to  see  you,  but  I'm  not  going 
to  tell  you  so.  You  don't  deserve  any  compli- 
mentary speeches,  running  away  from  us  in  that 
fashion.  Walter  was  more  disappointed  than  I 
can  tell  you ;  he  had  counted  on  you  for  the  Cana- 
dian trip.  Bainbridge  and  Winslow  were  with 
him,  and  they  wanted  you  badly.  They  left  letters 
at  your  clubs  and  bachelor  quarters  with  the  re- 
quest that  they  be  forwarded,  and  when  still  they 
didn't  hear  from  you,  they  decided  that  you  had 
gone  to  the  Sahara.  Bainbridge  or  Winslow,  I 
forget  which,  remembered  that  you  had  once 
339 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

spoken  about  making  a  trip  out  onto  the  desert, 
and  when  we  couldn't  reach  you,  we  concluded  you 
had  gone  there." 

"  I  see  you  continue  to  bracket  Bainbridge  and 
Winslow  together  as  formerly." 

"  Yes.  People  call  them  the  Heavenly  Twins, 
they're  so  constantly  together."  Then,  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  mien,  "  You  tried  our  patience  to 
the  breaking  point,  running  off  that  way.  What 
had  we  ever  done  to  you  to  deserve  such  treatment  ? 
(Fillmore  had  left  some  time  before).  But  I 
haven't  the  heart  to  scold  you,  I'm  only  too  glad 
to  see  a  familiar  face  again.  Come  back  to  the 
hotel  with  me,"  making  room  for  him,  "  and  I'll 
continue  to  be  good-natured.  And  where  have 
you  been  ever  since  ?  Here  ?  In  Arizona  ?  Then 
you  must  have  a  gold-mine.  Nothing  short  of 
that  would  keep  you  here  so  long.  I  suppose  you'll 
have  a  box  at  the  opera  next  season  and  be  setting 
up  a  stable  and  a  bachelor  place  in  the  country. 
How  Walter'll  envy  you !  I  anticipate  an  unholy 
joy  in  noting  his  discomfiture.  You've  always  been 
such  good  friends  that  he  couldn't  well  help  being 
envious  should  you  so  outtop  him  when  you  return. 
How  lovely  it  must  be  to  make  so  brilliant  a  suc- 
cess, that  all  your  friends  will  hate  you  for  it! 
That's  really  the  best  test  of  success,  because  it's 
a  genuine  appreciation  wrung  from  them  against 
340 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

their  will !  They're  always  ready  enough  to  yield 
their  admiration  to  a  moderate  success,  such  as 
any  one  might  make,  but  when  they  hate  you,  it's 
a  spontaneous  tribute  only  called  forth  by  talents 
of  the  highest  order." 

Branscombe  was  amused.  If  Walter  Cope- 
land  had  been  so  anxious  to  see  him  in  his  trouble, 
he  might  have  gone  down  to  the  Tombs,  or  on 
his  release,  to  his  bachelor  quarters.  In  any  case, 
the  newspapers  would  have  given  him  the  required 
information  as  to  his  whereabouts.  The  naivete 
of  trying  to  ignore  the  whole  thing  in  so  trans- 
parent a  fashion!  And  the  nerve  of  it!  Still, 
he  must  do  what  was  expected  of  him.  He  was 
gentleman  enough  to  follow  a  lady's  lead,  no  mat- 
ter into  what  sloughs  of  deceit  it  led.  Come  to 
think  of  it,  there  was  no  deceit  about  it.  Each 
knew  that  the  other  was  playing  a  part. 

11  I  cannot  tell  you  how  lonely  I've  been  this 
past  week.  Why  couldn't  I  have  discovered  you 
before?" 

"  You  didn't  prospect  in  the  right  places.  I've 
turned  ranchman.     I'm  living  in  the  country." 

"  You've  changed  somehow.  You  look  differ- 
ent— more  moral,  as  if  you  were  going  to  try  to 
be  good.  Don't!  You'll  never  keep  it  up.  It's 
too  difficult.  That  kind  of  thing  doesn't  come 
easy  or  natural  to  people  of  our  type.  Yes! 
341 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

You're  different.  It  can't  be  due  to  the  pastoral 
scenes  among  which  you  live?  " 

"  It's  the  effect  of  the  actinic  rays.  They  credit 
everything  to  that  in  this  country.  If  you  stay, 
you'll  come  under  the  influence  too." 

"And  become  good?  How  nice!  How  long 
must  I  stay  to  bring  this  about?  But  perhaps  that 
depends  on  the  previous  state  and  condition.  I  fear 
I  never  could  keep  it  up  in  the  strain  of  city  life. 
You  must  stay  to  dinner,  and  to-morrow  you  can 
take  me  to  your  gold-mine.  Don't  tell  me  you 
haven't  one!  Nothing  short  of  that  could  keep 
you  here  all  this  time."  After  a  pause  she  con- 
tinued with  a  kind  of  feverish  gayety:  "  It's  not 
a  question  of  health  with  you?  No!  I'll  acquit 
you  of  that,  but  that's  what  has  brought  me  here, 
and  I'm  all  broken  up  over  my  cousin's  death  too. 
You  remember  Sandford  Blakeslee?  He  was  at- 
tacked by  consumption  two  years  ago,  and  came 
here  and  camped  all  alone  on  the  desert.  He  died 
in  January  last." 

"  I  remember  him,  but  did  not  see  him  here. 
I  read  the  notice  of  his  death  in  the  local  paper, 
and  thought  it  must  be  the  same  person.  I  never 
saw  very  much  of  him  back  East.  Tell  me,  did 
he  paint  much  of  late  years?" 

"  He  used  to  try  his  hand  at  water-colors,  poor 
boy,  but  he  had  very  little  time  for  it;  only  Sun- 
342 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

days  and  holidays.  He  used  to  say  that  he  had 
it  in  him  to  do  good  work  could  he  have  put  all 
his  time  into  it.  I  have  a  winter  scene  that  he  did, 
which  has  been  commended.  We  were  all  at  Palm 
Beach  when  he  died,  and  as  I  was  worrying  about 
my  health,  they  didn't  tell  me  about  it.  Don't 
ever  advise  anyone  to  go  to  Palm  Beach  for  rest 
and  recuperation.  There  was  every  bit  as  much 
to  do  there  as  if  I  had  stayed  at  home.  They 
would  keep  you  going  twenty-four  hours  a  day,  if 
you  would  let  them.  I  was  run  down  in  health 
and  was  told  to  go  to  Florida  and  rest  up  until 
spring,  instead  of  which  I  danced  like  a  dervish 
most  of  the  time.  And  now  the  doctor  says  there's 
a  lesion,  but  it's  only  slight  as  yet,  and  by  being 
careful  for  a  year,  I'll  probably  come  out  of  it 
all  right.  So  I've  come,  with  father,  my  maid  and 
a  nurse,  to  stay  here  a  few  days;  after  which  we'll 
go  to  Southern  California  for  the  summer." 

Branscombe  began  casting  about  in  his  mind  for 
some  comment  to  make  to  this,  but  before  he  could 
think  of  anything,  she  began  again: 

"  The  doctors  tell  me  there's  no  kind  of  danger 
if  I'm  careful,  and  keep  away  from  the  city,  other- 
wise, the  consequences  may  be  very  bad.  You'll 
stay  to  dinner — one  o'clock  dinner,  but  it's  not 
bad  otherwise.  Father  will  want  to  see  you.  He's 
getting  restless,  and  wants  to  leave  for  Pasadena, 
343 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

but  with  management,  he  can  be  kept  here  a  few 
days  longer — solely  on  your  account." 

When  the  carriage  reached  the  hotel,  Brans- 
combe  handed  out  Miss  Copeland  with  all  the 
gallantry  which  that  personage  was  accustomed 
to,  receiving  in  return  one  of  her  best  smiles — she 
had  quite  a  repertoire  of  them  adapted  to  all  situ- 
ations—as reward. 

Within,  in  an  embrasure  screened  from  view, 
a  woman  stood,  taking  in  the  little  tableau.  She 
was  outwardly  calm,  except  for  blazing  eyes. 

"He  is  as  young  as  ever,  younger!  "  she  said 
to  herself,  "  and  as  careless.  Nothing  touches 
him!  The  man,  he  is  made  for  enjoyment,  and 
the  woman  for  suffering!  He  is  not  changed  ex- 
cept for  the  little  white  hair  sprinkled  in  with  the 
black." 

When  they  entered  the  hotel  the  maid,  having 
evidently  watched  for  the  carriage,  was  in  the 
lobby  awaiting  them. 

11  You  see  how  they  coddle  me !  "  remarked 
Miss  Copeland.  "  My  nurse  is  a  jewel.  If  good 
care  will  accomplish  anything,  I'm  sure  to  get  well 
soon.  She  has  been  for  nearly  a  year  with  the 
Wiltons,  until  Amy  died.  You  remember  Amy? 
She  did  not  go  out  much  of  late  years,  poor  dear, 
they've  had  scandal  and  trouble  of  various  kinds 
in  the  family,  and  it  has  helped  to  break  down 
344 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

her  health.  They  were  in  the  Adirondack^  part 
of  the  time,  and  then  at  Liberty." 

The  rencontre  bored  him.  How  tiresome  these 
social  amenities,  where  talk  was  so  often  forced 
and  the  pose  of  each  known  to  be  a  pose  by  the 
other.  Out  here,  if  you  didn't  have  anything  to 
say  you  kept  your  mouth  shut,  and  it  was  all  right. 
With  his  new  mental  attitude,  however,  of  desir- 
ing always  to  regard  any  question  from  the  view- 
point of  the  other  as  well  as  from  his  own,  he 
listened  politely  to  the  father's  platitudes  as  well 
as  to  the  daughter's  sallies.  And  when  the  father 
expressed  his  determination  of  leaving  on  the 
following  evening  for  Pasadena,  he  even  joined 
with  Miss  Copeland,  in  urging  some  delay. 

He  had  often  visited  at  their  country  house 
with  Walter,  who  was  a  classmate  at  college,  and 
he  and  Miss  Kittie  used  to  have  some  jokes  in 
common,  but  she  had  never  shown  any  particular 
preference  for  his  society;  to-day,  however,  she 
had  fairly  monopolized  him. 

A  less  experienced  man  of  the  world  might  have 
been  deceived  or  even  flattered  by  all  this  friend- 
liness. Branscombe,  however,  had  worked  the 
society  treadmill  too  thoroughly  during  the  past 
five  years  to  be  taken  in  by  it.  He  could  readily 
follow  the  line  of  reasoning  that  prompted  it.  It 
was  plain  the  CoDelands  regretted  now  not  having 
345 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

stood  by  him  in  his  trouble.  True,  they  were  out 
of  town  at  the  time,  in  their  country  house,  but 
that  did  not  excuse  them.  Now  that  it  was  a 
thing  of  the  past,  they  probably  realized  that  he 
had  been  treated  unjustly  by  the  others,  and,  as 
an  old  family  friend,  had  certainly  deserved  better 
from  themselves.  Their  defection  toward  him 
might  make  an  embarrassing  situation  when  he 
should  return,  as  Miss  Kittie  so  evidently  expected 
he  would  do.  And  with  the  glamour  of  a  great 
fortune  achieved  by  him,  all  would  lionize  him! 
Clearly  it  would  be  the  part  of  wisdom  to  make 
her  peace  with  him  now.     These  women ! 

He  was  still  smiling  inwardly  at  the  thought 
of  the  supposititious  gold-mine,  and  the  social  pres- 
tige he  was  attaining  thereby,  when  the  rustle  of 
the  nurse's  garments  caused  him  to  look  up  me- 
chanically, and  he  gave  a  violent  start.  It  was  as 
if  an  electric  shock  had  gone  through  him,  but  he 
pulled  himself  together  with  a  powerful  effort, 
listening  with  what  patience  he  could  command  to 
Mr.  Copeland's  arguments  for  immediate  depar- 
ture, which  he  now  began  to  acquiesce  in. 

And  the  nurse,  what  of  her?  No  trace  of 
agitation  was  visible  here.  With  the  habit  of  self- 
restraint  necessary  to  her  profession,  she  betrayed 
no  sign  of  ever  having  met  the  visitor  before. 
But  ere  he  left,  she  managed  to  hand  him  a  note 
346 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

unobserved  by  the  others,  which  he  took  mechan- 
ically, and  slipped  into  a  pocket. 

Fifine  in  the  States!  In  Arizona!  And  yet, 
why  not?  Did  she  not  have  as  good  a  right  here 
as  anyone?  It  was  now  five  years  since  he  had 
left  Paris.  She  had  changed,  in  her  demeanor 
most  of  all.  Of  course,  the  old  lightsomeness 
would  be  out  of  place  in  her  profession  as  nurse, 
but  the  expression  of  her  face  precluded  its  ex- 
istence. Could  she  too  have  suffered?  Had  his 
going  made  a  permanent  difference  to  her?  He 
would  see  her;  it  would  be  best.  He  hoped  there 
would  be  no  scene.  It  was  the  dread  of  this  that 
had  caused  him  to  leave  her  as  he  had,  by  the 
ruse  of  saying  that  he  was  going  away  for  a  few 
days  with  a  party  of  friends  from  the  States  who 
wanted  him  for  a  trip  into  Brittany. 

When  he  got  to  the  lobby,  he  opened  the  note 
and  read: 

Monsieur:  (Fifine  to  address  him  in  this  fashion.  Truly 
the  years  had  changed  her.)  I  must  see  you.  Don't  deny 
me.  I  have  endured  much  since  the  old  Paris  days.  Come  to 
the  post-office  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  be  there  at  eight. 
Mile.  Kittie  does  not  rise  generally  until  ten.  You  did  not 
know  it,  but  I  was  in  New  York  a  year  before  you  left.  I 
have  been  in  a  training  school  already  in  Paris,  and  came  to 
New  York  with  an  American  family.  We  leave  for  Pasadena 
soon.     Come  to-morrow. 

Fifine. 

347 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

He  would  have  to  see  her,  that  was  plain.  It 
was  embarrassing,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
Why  should  she  wish  to  see  him?  Not  to  re- 
proach him,  not  even  the  old  Fifine  would  have 
done  that.  That  was  not  what  he  had  feared 
when  leaving  her  as  he  had.  It  was  only  that  he 
was  a  very  coward  at  facing  distress  and  tears. 
She  would  soon  get  over  it  he  had  thought  at  the 
time,  and  meanwhile,  why  should  either  of  them 
be  more  uncomfortable  than  was  necessary? 

Luckily,  she  would  soon  be  gone,  and  then  life 
would  flow  on  again  in  its  old  even  course. 

On  his  way  back  to  Camp,  he  fell  to  planning 
the  studio  he  intended  building,  and  which  he 
would  use  for  his  bachelor  quarters.  There  should 
be  two  stories  to  it,  consisting  of  one  large,  square 
room  on  each  floor.  The  room  on  the  main  floor 
would  be  the  studio  or  living-room,  and,  detached 
from  it  there  would  be  a  kitchen,  with  a  bath-room 
above.  The  room  over  the  studio  would  be  fur- 
nished as  a  bedroom,  but  he  would  sleep  on  a 
balcony  opening  out  from  it,  which  would  connect 
with  the  bath-room.  His  meals  would  be  served 
in  the  living-room. 

The  bedroom  must  be  simple  and  restful.  He 
already  had  a  picture  of  it  in  his  mind.  The  pre- 
vailing tones  of  the  room  should  be  ivory  white 
and  green.  The  floor,  ceiling  and  woodwork 
348 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

white,  the  wall  hangings  and  rug  plain  green. 
The  furniture  should  be  mahogany,  and  in  lieu  of 
all  gewgaws  or  pictures,  there  should  be  a  large 
Buddha.  This  would  dominate  the  room,  with  its 
atmosphere  of  calm. 

The  ranch-house  should  be  put  in  shape  for  the 
Deacon  and  his  wife,  and  he  would  beautify  the 
grounds  to  some  extent.  There  would  be  a  rose 
garden,  and  some  palms  and  Italian  cedars  and 
quick-growing  shade  trees. 


349 


CHAPTER   XX 

WHEN  Branscombe  reached  the  post-office 
in  the  morning,  he  found  Fifine  await- 
ing him  outside.     She  was  the  first  to  speak: 

"  I  have  done  much  thinking  Monsieur — " 
Branscombe  made  a  deprecatory  gesture  when  she 
began  with  the  formal  address,  which  she  ap- 
peared not  to  notice — "  much  thinking  since  the 
old  Paris  days.  I  do  not  regret  them,  neither  do 
I  desire  them  nor  their  like  back  again.  And  I 
do  not  blame  you  so  much  now.  You  were  not 
the  first;  there  was  a  predecessor.  I  made  no 
secret  of  this.  But  there  has  been  no  one  else! 
I  swear  to  you,  no  one  has  taken  your  place.  My 
faults  were  the  faults  of  my  surroundings,  of  my 
class.  I  know  better  now,  but  I  did  not  know  then 
what  such  conduct  involved — what  a  penalty  I 
would  later  have  to  pay — how  it  would  color  my 
whole  life!  When  I  lost  you  I  suffered!  I  suf- 
fered more  than  I  can  tell!  and  I  said:  No  more 
of  this!  They  do  not  care  how  they  treat  you. 
They  play  with  you,  you  make  life  pleasant  for 
them  for  a  while;  until  they  find  some  one  they  like 
350 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

better;  and  they  throw  you  aside.  Only  a  grisette ! 
You  would  give  your  life  for  them,  and  they  give 
you  hardly  a  thought.  You  men  are  selfish, 
ego'iste,  wanting  all,  and  giving  nothing  in  return. 
We  give  you  the  whole  wealth  of  our  affection,  and 
our  good  name  along  with  it,  and  you  reward  us 
by  taking  us  out  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  That, 
you  think,  is  ample  recompense.  Your  two  thou- 
sand francs,  Monsieur,  that  you  sent  me  before 
leaving  Paris  are  in  the  bank  in  your  name.  You 
were  too  sure  that  I  would  accept  it.  You  thought 
it  would  heal  my  hurt." 

They  were  walking  out  one  of  the  broad  ave- 
nues leading  into  the  country.  Spacious  mansions 
dotted  the  roadway  on  either  side.  The  gardens 
were  all  ablow  with  billowy  masses  of  lilies  and 
roses.  The  chatter  of  grackles  was  abroad  in  the 
land.  The  air  of  the  early  morning  was  pure  and 
cool,  but  Branscombe  felt  as  if  he  were  stifling. 
Again  the  inward  drama!  Again  the  mentor  at 
his  elbow! 

Presently  she  continued: 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  the  money — that 
it  is  still  yours — but  I  wanted  not  to  hurt  you  in 
return,  because  in  my  foolish  heart  the  love  is 
there  still.  But  in  my  brain  there  is  no  love,  and 
it  is  my  brain  that  controls  me  now.  You  never 
considered  what  it  meant  to  me,  your  coming  into 
35i 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

my  life  for  so  long,  and  then  leaving  me  that  way. 
I  tell  you  it  was  worse  than  death  to  me.  But  for 
one  thing,  I  should  have  ended  it  all.  I  should 
not  have  kept  on  living." 

"  Fifine,"  began  Branscombe,  his  voice  so  husky 
as  to  be  scarcely  recognizable,  "  I  know  I  have 
wronged  you.  I  don't  know  how  to  talk  very  well 
— it  never  came  easy  to  me — and  if  I  did,  there 
is  nothing  that  could  be  said  that  would  palliate 
matters.  I  will  make  you  the  only  reparation  I 
can,  and  that  is  to  offer  you  marriage.  If  you 
will  marry  me  I  promise  to  do  what  I  can  to  make 
you  happy.  Together,  we  will  strive  upward 
toward  a  worthier  life.*' 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments  in  astonish- 
ment. u  I  thought  I  knew  you,  Larry/ '  she  pro- 
nounced the  word  softly,  hesitatingly,  as  if  fearing 
to  take  a  liberty,  "  but  I  knew  you  very  little.  I 
always  knew  you  for  a  gentleman;  but  I  never 
would  have  expected  this.  And  while  it  would 
never  occur  to  me  to  take  you  at  your  word — I  am 
done  with  everything  of  that  kind — I  believe  you 
to  be  in  earnest.  I  am  glad  that  my  little  Larry 
has  such  good  blood  in  his  veins." 

Branscombe  started  violently.  "  Your — do  you 
mean " 

"  Yes !  "  she  interrupted  him,  and  came  near 
hating  him  as  she  saw  the  eager  look,  the  longing, 
352 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  hunger  in  his  eyes.  "  This,  too,  he  wants," 
she  thought.  "  They  are  all  alike.  They  always 
want,  want,  what  you  care  for  most.  They  want 
all,  all!  and  they  end  by  getting  it  too!  They 
always  want  the  kernel  and  leave  you  the  shell." 

She  continued: 

11 1  wanted  you  to  know  about  the  money,  and 
sometimes  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  about  the 
boy,  your  boy,  so  that  if  anything  happened  to 
me,  you  could  take  my  place.  But  only  in  case 
I  was  no  more,"  she  hastened  to  add,  noting  the 
eager  look  again  in  his  eyes.  "  I  knew  you  would 
act  the  father's  part  to  him,  I  knew  what  it  would 
mean  to  you.  That  Sunday,  a  few  months  before 
you  left  for  the  States,  when  we  were  together  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  you  bought  bonbons 
and  tossed  them  to  the  little  boy  on  the  bench 
near  us ;  do  you  recollect  ?  And  how  he  came  nearer 
and  you  sat  him  between  us,  and  he  reached  out 
shyly  and  put  his  little  hand  in  yours  snuggling 
up  close  to  you  away  from  me?  And  then  you 
stroked  his  hair  with  your  free  hand,  and  a  look 
came  into  your  eyes  that  I  had  never  seen  there. 
It  was  a  look  that  I  liked,  and  after,  when  the 
little  one  came,  I  forgave  you  much,  because  of 
it." 

They  had  strayed  off  the  avenue,  down  a  side 
lane,  and  seated  themselves  on  a  log  under  some 
353 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

cottonwoods  out  of  the  sun,  away  from  all  in- 
quisitive eyes  or  ears  except  those  of  the  grackles 
all  about  them. 

11  And  he  brought  me  solace,'*  she  continued, 
"  for  though  I  had  lost  you,  I  had  you  over  again 
in  him.  And  I  fancied  that  when  you  were  young 
you  were  just  such  a  child.  See,  here  is  his  pic- 
ture. I  have  it  in  my  locket  so  that  I  can  look  at 
it  whenever  the  desire  comes  strongly  to  me.  And 
when  he  grew  more  and  more  into  your  image, 
I  the  more  lost  my  bitterness.  I  said:  He  will 
make  up  to  me  for  your  loss.  And  I  prayed  the 
good  God  to  forgive  me,  for  that  I  had  felt  so 
bitter  for  his  coming,  after  you  had  abandoned 
me. 

"  Fifine,  you  torture  me  1  Let  me  make  it  up 
to  you,  all  the  suffering  I  have  caused  you !  " 

"  The  grisette  has  some  good  traits.  She  is 
industrious  and  economical,  and  this  keeps  her 
respectable,  at  least  according  to  her  ideas  of  the 
word.  At  all  events  she  accepts  no  money  that  has 
not  been  earned  by  the  work  of  her  hands.  When 
the  little  one  came,  I  had  money  enough  laid  by  to 
last  me  a  while.  Then,  the  good  Sisters  in  charge 
where  I  was  when  my  child  was  born  urged  me  to 
study  nursing,  and  I  got  good  positions  as  soon  as 
I  was  capable.  I  have  been  in  no  money  trouble 
because  of  the  added  expense  that  he  makes  me. 
354 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

And  I  always  felt  that  I  wanted  to  see  you  once 
more.  If  I  could  have  said  Adieu !  and  have  re- 
turned you  your  money,  the  longing  to  see  you 
once  again  might  not  have  been  so  great. 

"  Then  the  chance  came  to  go  to  the  States  with 
an  American  family  with  whom  I  had  been  living 
in  Paris.  I  knew  the  little  one  was  being  well 
taken  care  of,  and  I  came,  thinking  I  might  get 
a  sight  of  you.  I  did  not  intend  to  stay  here  long, 
but  the  family  needed  me,  and  were  kind  to  me. 
I  could  earn  much  more  in  this  country  than  in 
Paris,  and,  I  thought,  I  have  need  to  earn  and  to 
save  for  my  little  one ;  by  and  by  it  will  cost  more 
to  keep  him,  and  I  may  take  sickness;  he  must 
be  placed  above  the  reach  of  want.    So  I  stayed  on. 

"  Then  your  trouble  came.  The  papers  were 
full  of  it.  If  there  had  been  anything  I  could 
have  done,  I  would  have  gone  to  you,  for  I  always 
believed  in  you.  I  said:  '  He  would  not  do  that! 
Not  that!  If  there  has  been  anything  between 
them,  and  he  has  grown  tired  of  her,  he  would 
have  left  her  (Branscombe  winced  perceptibly), 
but  he  would  not  harm  her.'  " 

A  thought  struck  him.  u  Fifine,  was  it  you  that 
sent  me  the  violets  every  day?  M 

She  nodded  affirmatively. 

"  You  were  the  only  one !  the  only  one  to  stay 
by  me  or  believe  in  me." 
355 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  so.  I  wanted  to  write 
and  say:  *  Monsieur,  I  believe  in  you.  I  believe 
you  are  innocent/  but  when  I  had  the  letter  writ- 
ten I  would  not  send  it.  I  thought :  *  He  will  not 
understand  my  motive;  he  may  mistake  me.'  I 
could  not  have  stood  that !  " 

"  Fifine,"  he  said  softly,  "  I  have  been  very 
unhappy  until  recently.  Of  late  it  has  seemed 
possible  to  get  into  a  better  mode  of  life.  I  have 
wronged  you ;  how  much  I  never  knew  myself  until 
this  morning  when  I  met  you  again.  Let  me  undo 
that  wrong  so  far  as  is  possible.', 

u  The  wrong  is  no  more,  Monsieur.  You  have 
already  blotted  it  out  by  your  action.  But  nothing 
has  been  further  from  my  mind  than  marriage. 
And  marriage  with  you !  No !  Monsieur,  my 
wildest  fancies  never  made  such  a  leap !  I  know 
your  American  prejudices!  The  stain  always  re- 
mains on  the  woman.  And  I  am  not  your  equal 
socially.  You  would  never  have  thought  to  marry 
me  had  you  known  me  when  I  was  the  simple, 
innocent  country  girl,  and  you  shall  not  marry 
me  now.  In  the  eyes  of  your  friends,  I  am  not 
half  so  worthy  of  you  now  as  I  would  have 
been  then.  No!  I  will  not.  I  have  my  pride 
too." 

"  You  forget,  in  making  the  past  a  barrier  be- 
tween us,  that  I  have  participated  in  it;  that  it  is 
3S& 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

not  so  exclusively  yours  as  you  assume.  Both  are 
involved." 

"  But  it  is  the  woman  on  whom  the  punishment 
falls !  And  I  do  not  want  that  you  sacrifice  your- 
self for  me." 

11  There  is  no  sacrifice  in  the  matter.  I  have 
no  family  to  make  objections.  I  am  alone.  There 
is  no  one  with  the  right  to  say  a  word,  or  to  offend 
you  in  any  way.  Here,  as  my  wife,  the  past  will 
never  be  inquired  into.  Our  marriage  will  right 
all." 

"You  feel  so  now,  Monsieur  (again  the  depre- 
catory gesture  from  him),  but  you  might  not  al- 
ways feel  so.  Forgive  me  for  touching  on  this 
topic  again — I  do  not  wish  to  pain  you,  but  your 
desertion  was  almost  more  than  I  could  bear.  I 
know  if  you  took  upon  yourself  the  obligations 
you  propose,"  she  hastened  to  add,  seeing  the 
changed  expression  in  his  face,  "  you  would  carry 
them  out  to  the  letter.  It  is  in  your  blood  to  do 
this.  But  you  are  a  gentleman,  and  used  to  gentle- 
folk, and  I  am  not  a  lady  in  that  sense,  not  like 
Mile.  Kittie,  we  will  say.  And  if  you  should  be- 
come tired  of  me  I  would  know  it,  you  could  not 
hide  it  from  me  though  you  did  from  every  one 
else,  and  I  would  be  miserable.  I  fear  to  stake 
all  again.  At  least,  now,  I  have  peace.  And  I 
could  not  go  through  with  it  again,  that  pain.  I 
357 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

have  tried  to  teach  myself  ever  since  that  man 
is  an  enemy  to  hide  away  from.  When  I  came 
to  Arizona,"  she  continued  after  a  pause  occa- 
sioned by  watching  two  little  children  go  by  on  a 
burro,  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  here.  I  did 
not  know  where  you  were.  But  when  I  saw  you 
step  from  the  carriage  and  hand  out  Mile.  Kittie 
— Ciel,  what  a  name!  The  young  of  a  cat! 
When  I  saw  you  hand  her  out  so  poliment,  so 
gallantly,  I  almost  hated  you.  I  said  a  little  while 
ago  that  in  wishing  to  meet  you  again  I  did  not 
want  to  pain  you,  but  that  was  not  quite  true. 
When  I  saw  the  empressement  which  you  accorded 
Mile.  Kittie,  I  said:  '  This  is  the  way  he  can  do 
among  his  own  kind.  I !  who  gave  up  those  best 
years  to  him,  would  he  ever  show  me  such 
courtesy?  '  And  I  hardened  myself  against  you; 
for  I  realized  then  more  than  ever  before,  the 
difference  that  station  makes.  And  then  I  thought: 
'  I  will  tell  him !  He  shall  know !  I  will  tell  him 
about  the  child,  his  child,  back  in  Paris,  in  the 
convent  among  the  good  Sisters,  and  perhaps  I  can 
make  him  long  for  something  that  is  beyond  his 
reach !  something  that  he  can  never  have !  It  will 
not  hurt  him  as  his  abandonment  hurt  me,  because 
he  has  never  known  him;  but  he  will  have  the 

longing '  " 

"  Fifine,"    he   interrupted,    "  if   I   had   known 

358 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

about  the  child  I  would  have  sought  you  out.  It 
makes  every  difference  in  the  world.  There  is  no 
other  way  for  either  of  us.  You  must  marry  me. 
There  is  no  other  way  to  set  everything  right." 

"  But  now,"  she  continued,  not  noticing  the  in- 
terruption, "  I  am  sorry  for  the — the  vindicatif 
spirit  that  led  me  to  ask  for  a  meeting.  And  I 
am  sorry  if  I  have  pained  you.  For  you  have 
made  my  own  heart  lighter.  Always  I  will  think 
better  of  myself  and  of  you  for  this." 

"  Fifine,  try  to  see  this  matter  in  its  right  light. 
You  have  set  yourself  against  me.  Try  not  to  be 
stubborn.  Look  at  it  from  my  point  of  view. 
Come.    Say  yes !  " 

"  I  cannot!  I  am  not  what  you  Americans  call 
*  cut  out '  for  the  part.  I  am  not  like  Mile.  Kittie. 
I  have  seen  your  Fifth  Avenue.  I  know  what  the 
life  is  like.  It  is  not  for  me,  that  life.  I  would 
rather  have  my  own  life,  by  working,  than  that. 
I  am  not  like  those  people.  And  then  our 
past " 

u  The  past  is  nothing,  and  should  never  be  con- 
sidered," he  interrupted.  "  We  have  only  the 
present;  let  us  live  that  properly,  and  everything 
else  will  be  well.  Our  future  shall  justify  the 
past." 

"  As  your  wife,  I  would  always  be  acting  a  part 
among  them.  What  brings  you  to  Arizona?" 
359 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

she  asked  suddenly,  looking  at  him  narrowly  the 
while;  "  not  the  consumption?  No!  I  did  not 
think  so.  Then  why  do  you  stay?  It  is  all  blown 
over,  that  affair  of  the  boat!  Mile.  Kittie  had 
much  to  say  about  it  last  night  to  her  father,  and 
said  that  the  others  had  wronged  you  and  were 
sorry.  When  you  come  back,  she  said,  they  will 
do  much  to  make  it  up  to  you.  You  will  receive 
much  attention  from  your  friends." 

"  I  shall  not  go  back.  What  is  there  to  go  back 
to?  I  like  this  life.  I  am  living  quite  simply,  but 
I  am  content.  That  is,  I  have  been  until  now. 
Certainly  this  makes  a  difference.  The  training 
of  the  boy,"  in  his  eyes  she  read  his  longing, 
"  would  indeed  give  me  something  to  live  for." 

Some  Sonora  doves  alighted  almost  at  their 
feet,  seemingly  aware  that  it  was  now  the  close 
season,  and  that  they  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
their  arch-enemy.  She  watched  them  a  few  mo- 
ments before  replying.  When  she  began,  her 
voice  was  hoarse  with  emotion. 

"  You  have  shown  me  that  you  can  be  unselfish, 
Larry — "  again  she  spoke  the  name  softly,  hesi- 
tatingly, as  if  fearing  an  impropriety  in  using  the 
old  familiar  name  in  these  changed  relations — 
"  you  have  shown  me  that  you  can  make  sacrifices 
— something  which  I  never  would  have  expected 
from  you.  I  know  you  well  enough  to  know  that 
360 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

you  mean  what  you  say,  that  you  would  not  offer 
marriage  if  you  did  not  mean  it  and  be  willing 
to  abide  by  it  whatever  it  might  bring.  You  shall 
not  be  alone  in  this.  I  will  show  you  I  too  can 
be  generous.  I  will  let  you  have  him !  "  She  spoke 
vehemently,  dramatically,  as  only  the  Latin  can, 
as  the  Latin  must  when  under  strong  excitement. 
"  I  will  give  him  to  you !     You  shall  have  him !  " 

"  Not  unless  you'll  come  too.  You  said  a  little 
while  back  that  we  men  are  selfish,  that  we  want 
all.  That  is  what  I  want.  I  want  the  boy,  but 
I  want  you  too.  And  a  child's  life  without  a 
mother's  tenderness  is  only  half  a  life." 

u  He  is  yours  to  do  what  you  will  with.  To- 
night I  will  write  to  the  Sisters  in  the  convent  in 
Paris,  and  tell  them  the  story,  and  I  will  tell  them 
that  it  is  my  wish  that  the  child  should  go  to  his 
father.     And  once  in  a  while  I  may  see  him?  " 

"  Shall  I  always  be  taking  advantage  of  you  I  " 
he  rejoined,  and  there  was  a  ring  of  the  old  self- 
scorn  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  albeit  a  prouder 
carriage  of  the  head — "  shall  I  always  take  ad- 
vantage of  you,  accepting  everything  from  you 
and  giving  nothing  in  return  ?  Fifine,  I  am  trying 
to  learn  how  to  live  a  different  life.  I  have  always 
thought  of  myself  first;  always  myself.  It  did  not 
make  much  difference  about  the  others,  so  that  I 
might  have  what  I  desired.  That  was  the  impor- 
361 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

tant  thing.  No  matter  if  others  suffered  on  ac- 
count of  it;  it  was  a  pity  that  it  should  have  to  be 
so,  but  it  never  stopped  me.  Their  view,  their 
side  of  the  question  I  never  considered.  But  now, 
since  coming  to  Arizona,  to  be  accurate,  since  last 
December,  I  am  learning  better.  I  am  learning 
that  you  cannot  harm  another  without  harming 
yourself;  and  conversely,  you  cannot  help  another 
without  benefiting  yourself  most  of  all.  Every- 
thing that  you  do,  good  or  ill,  reacts  on  yourself 
for  good  or  ill.  I  now  know  that  it  is  not  good  for 
us  to  have  our  own  way  all  the  time — that  it  is  often 
necessary  to  give  up — to  renounce.  And  when 
we  have  learned  this  lesson  of  renunciation,  sor- 
row loses  its  power  over  us.  When  we  can  rise 
superior  to  our  desires,  we  find  that  there  is  given 
us  in  place  of  them  something  that  we  prize  more 
highly.  I  should  feel  like  a  cur  to  take  advantage 
of  you  any  more.  And  I  will  not  deprive  the  boy 
of  the  mother  who  is  far  more  to  him  than  the 
father  ever  could  hope  to  be." 

A  certain  nobility  came  to  her  features — there 
was  dignity  in  her  bearing  and  manner  as  she  an- 
swered him: 

"  You   are   much   changed,    Larry.      You    say 

true,  in  the  old  time  you  would  not  have  thought 

of  this.     You  are  changed  in  mind,  but  you  have 

not  grown  older.    When  I  first  saw  you,  when  you 

362 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

stepped  from  the  carriage,  I  said :  '  The  years  have 
been  kinder  to  him  than  to  me.  He  is  as  young 
as  ever,  all  except  the  little  white  hair  sprinkled 
in  with  the  black.'  But  now  I  know  that  you,  too, 
have  suffered  in  the  years  that  have  gone." 

The  morning  was  far  advanced.  The  sun  was 
riding  high  in  the  heavens.  Under  the  shade  of 
the  cottonwoods  they  were  comfortable,  and,  in 
their  intense  preoccupation  did  not  notice  the  lapse 
of  time. 

"  Fifine,  you  are  my  wife,  bound  to  me  just  as 
closely  as  if  priest  or  minister  had  joined  us.  This 
is  my  view  of  the  matter  in  the  light  of  what  has 
come  to  pass.  Nothing  that  you  say  or  do  will 
change  it;  we  are  husband  and  wife,  just  as  that 
boy  is  our  child.  You  cannot  get  away  from  it. 
And  you  have  obligations  to  the  boy  and  to  me — 
the  obligations  of  the  wife  and  mother.  The  thing 
to  consider  now,  is,  what  is  most  desirable  for  the 
boy.    He  is  the  key  to  the  situation. " 

There  was  a  new  and  unmistakable  tone  of 
command,  of  masterfulness  in  his  voice,  at  which 
she  quailed.  Womanlike,  when  he  took  this  tone, 
she  felt  herself  becoming  like  clay  in  his  hands. 
She  must  not  lose  sight  of  her  duty  to  him.  She 
must  be  resolute  in  putting  away  this  happiness 
she  felt  she  did  not  deserve. 

"  Do  not  urge  me,  Larry,"  she  pleaded.  "  Do 
363 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

not  tempt  me  to  do  what  might  bring  unhappiness 
to  both." 

"  The  child  must  be  considered  first.  You  have 
to  think  what  is  best  for  him.  In  any  event,  he 
must  remain  with  his  mother.  Nothing  can  make 
up  to  a  child  for  the  loss  of  its  mother.  I  always 
felt  better  acquainted  with  my  mother,  and  more 
nearly  related  to  her,  than  to  my  father.  There 
is  nothing  else  to  do  that  would  be  right  for  each. 
Father  and  mother  must  unite  for  the  child's  sake. 
And  he  will  do  better  here  in  every  way.  The  out- 
door life  in  the  pure  air  will  make  a  strong,  healthy 
lad  of  him.  We  will  take  him  away  from  Paris 
before  he  can  become  contaminated  by  its  vices." 

The  grackles  had  been  reinforced  by  another 
colony,  and  all  seemed  bent  on  elucidating  the 
mystery  of  this  couple  below.  A  mocking-bird 
in  a  mesquite  tree  near  by,  rolled  off  his  pretty 
roundelay. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  what  keeps  me  here.  I  have 
hardly  spoken  of  it  as  yet.  This  is  a  country  to 
which  consumptives  come  in  large  numbers  in  the 
autumn  and  winter,  as  you  may  know.  Many 
come  with  little  or  no  money.  They  are  desperate 
— they  do  not  want  to  die,  and  they  come  here  on 
the  chance  of  earning  something  while  making  the 
cure.  Many  might  be  cured  if  they  had  a  chance, 
who  die  for  want  of  the  right  kind  of  help.  There 
364 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

is  no  work  for  that  class  here,  and  so  their  condi- 
tion becomes  worse — much  worse,  than  if  they 
had  remained  at  their  homes.  The  suffering  that 
goes  on  among  these  people,  helpless  through  no 
fault  of  their  own,  can  hardly  be  described.  We, 
who  have  always  had  health  and  the  means  of 
support  could  never  imagine  it,  and  can  hardly 
believe  it  when  we  see  it. 

"  Then  there  is  another  class,  people  who  have 
some  means,  but  very  limited.  These  are  almost 
as  bad  off  as  the  others,  as  they  haven't  money 
enough  to  provide  themselves  with  what  they  need 
to  make  the  cure,  and  so,  only  prolong  their 
misery.  They  need  help.  To  battle  with  a  dis- 
ease like  consumption  is  hard  enough  without 
having  to  suffer  from  the  want  of  money  along 
with  it.  And  they  worry  more  on  account  of  their 
poverty  than  their  illness.  It  is  no  more  than 
right — it  is  no  more  than  the  simplest  justice  that 
those  with  health  and  means  should  do  what  they 
can  for  these  people  who  lack  both. 

"  Fifine,  I  am  planning  to  do  something  to  re- 
lieve this  situation.  It  is  only  by  a  combination 
of  favoring  conditions  that  the  consumptive  can 
hope  to  recover.  When  everything  is  right,  many 
cures  are  effected  and  the  lives  of  others  prolonged. 
And  no  provision  has  been  made  for  them  here, 
as  yet.    They  are  dying  all  about  us  for  the  want 

36s 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  just  such  help  as  I  can  provide.  This  is  what 
I  have  in  hand.  I  am  starting  a  Camp  where 
these  people  can  be  properly  looked  after — where 
those  that  are  not  too  bad  can  be  cured,  and  the 
others  made  comfortable.  In  this  work  you  will 
be  a  helpmeet  to  me  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 
Here,  in  this  work,  you  will  be  my  equal,  my 
superior  in  the  eyes  of  all.  In  this  Western  coun- 
try, women  are  accorded  a  deference  that  is  wholly 
unknown  in  your  land.  And  you  will  like  the 
work.  There  is  more  satisfaction  in  it  than  can 
be  had  in  the  other  mode  of  life  which  we  both 
have  tested  and  have  found  insufficient  to  our 
needs.  There  is  to  be  a  hospital  here,  so  that  all 
those  who  have  to  keep  to  their  beds — those 
merely  running  temperature  as  well  as  the  very 
sick — can  be  under  constant  supervision.  The 
best  results  in  critical  cases  can  only  be  secured  by 
individualized  treatment." 

How  animated  he  became  as  he  warmed  up  to 
his  theme!  The  uplifted  head,  the  mobile  fea- 
tures, the  glistening  eyes — here  was  intensity  of 
purpose  of  which  she  heretofore  had  had  no  con- 
cept. 

"  As  usual,  this  part  of  the  work,  being  the 

hardest,  the  most  responsible,  delicate,  riskful  to 

the  health,  falls  to  the  woman.     The  young  men, 

especially  when  they  are  very  sick,  do  much  better 

3^ 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

when  there  is  a  woman  about.  They  long  for  her 
presence,  her  sympathy,  the  touch  of  her  hand,  the 
cheer  of  her  words.  She  inspires  confidence,  hope, 
and  her  presence  really  holds  out  a  possibility  of 
recovery  to  them  which  would  not  be  the  case 
otherwise. " 

A  subtle,  indefinable  change  came  over  her 
features  as  he  said  this. 

He  continued :  "  You  will  take  charge  of  this, 
Fifine,  but  you  will  have  an  assistant  nurse,  so  that 
your  health  will  not  suffer.  You  will  have  others 
depending  on  you.  You  will  take  care  of  your 
health  for  the  sake  of  others  as  well  as  yourself. 
The  ward  will  be  constructed  so  that  it  will  prac- 
tically be  a  screened  room,  three  sides  of  it  open 
to  the  elements.  In  bad  weather,  which  only 
seldom  occurs,  canvas-covered  frames  will  be  put 
on  the  sides  from  whence  the  wind  comes.  At  all 
other  times,  it  will  practically  be  like  out  of  doors. 
It  will  be  a  busy  life  for  both,  and  will  yield  us 
much  satisfaction." 

Branscombe  paused,  knowing  that  he  had  pre- 
vailed. To  appeal  to  her  generosity — to  ask  sac- 
rifices^— here  he  touched  the  very  heart  and  core 
of  womanhood.  He  could  not  have  hit  on  a  line 
of  argument  better  calculated  to  carry  his  point. 

Fifine,  in  all  the  stress  of  conflicting  emotions, 
of  love  on  the  one  side,  duty,  or  rather  her  concept 
367 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

of  it,  on  the  other — found  herself  wondering  at 
his  flow  of  language.  Though  not  taciturn  in  the 
old  Paris  days,  yet  distinctly  speech  had  been  silver 
with  him;  silence  golden.  He  was  convincing  in 
this  new  role,  and  she  found  herself  carried  along 
in  the  flow  of  his  enthusiasm,  in  spite  of  all  her 
resolutions. 

And,  after  all,  their  marriage  would  not  be  the 
anomaly  that  it  had  first  seemed. 

This  work  would  go  far  to  redeem  the  past — 
would  render  her  more  worthy  of  the  new  relation. 
In  the  old  Paris  days  it  would  not  have  done  at 
all.  She  had  never  thought  of  it  as  a  possible 
outcome  of  their  relations.  Marriage  between 
the  former  Larry  and  the  former  Fifine  would 
have  been  something  outre,  incongruous,  not  to  be 
imagined. 

But  now,  all  was  wholly  different.  For  not  only 
had  the  circumstances  changed — that  was  some- 
thing that  was  unstable  at  best  and  continually 
liable  to  change — a  permanent  relation  like  mar- 
riage should  have  a  better  groundwork — but  what 
was  more  important,  the  character  of  each  had 
changed;  and  although  character  also  is  mobile, 
never  finished,  always  in  process  of  becoming,  its 
outcome  might  fairly  well  be  predicated  in  the 
given  individual.  And  in  his  first  words  he  had 
indicated  this  new  trend  of  thought.  She  had 
368 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

never  imagined  him  as  taking  a  serious  view  of 
life;  she  had  never  imagined  him  as  being  other 
than  what  she  had  always  known  him.  Under 
her  sense  of  injury,  it  had  seemed  that  she  had 
been  singled  out  for  discipline;  that  while  suffer- 
ing had  been  meted  out  to  her,  to  him  came  enjoy- 
ment; punishment  for  her — reward  for  him. 

But  now  she  knew  that  the  years  had  exacted 
their  tribute  from  him  as  from  her.  Things  were 
not  so  unequally  distributed  as  she  had  believed. 
Both  had  been  chastened.  Yes,  it  was  not  alone 
she;  he  too  was  changed,  changed  in  every  root 
and  fibre  of  his  being.  Though  the  body  had  re- 
mained the  same,  the  mind  inhabiting  it,  the  in- 
forming spirit,  that  which  constitutes  the  man,  was 
something  wholly  other  than  the  former  Brans- 
combe. 

As  for  differences  in  station,  it  was  even  as  he 
had  said;  in  this  work  social  distinctions  cut  but 
little  figure.  It  was  man  and  woman  now,  not 
gentleman  and  lady.  They  would  be  much  occu- 
pied in  their  work ;  this  would  satisfy  them.  There 
was  only  the  one  drawback;  womanlike,  it  would 
be  long  before  she  would  get  over  that — that  past 
which  for  her  might  never  be  entirely  expunged, 
even  by  a  future  of  good  deeds. 

As  for  him,  manlike,  the  past  troubled  him  very 
little,  his  thoughts  being  directed  always  toward 
369 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

the  future.  The  past  was  a  closed  book,  of  no  use 
to  any  one.  The  future  held  all  of  promise — of 
hope — of  fulfilment. 

"  Maternity  changes  all  women  for  the  better," 
he  thought.  "  It  has  bettered  her,  even  in  the 
false  position  in  which  she  is  placed.  This  has 
retarded  her  development,  but  that  is  a  thing  of 
the  past  now.  Marriage  will  rectify  all.  The 
boy,  too,  will  hallow,  will  spiritualize  our  rela- 
tion." 

The  boy!  Already  in  imagination  he  felt  the 
grasp  of  that  little  hand  in  his,  he  saw  the  con- 
fiding upward  glance,  he  divined  the  outflow  of 
trust,  of  reliance  which  the  child  yields  so  freely 
the  parent.  His  the  child!  he  the  parent!  With 
the  thought  came  the  look  in  his  eyes  that  she  had 
seen  there  that  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  when  he  had  stroked  the  little  one's  hair 
with  his  disengaged  hand;  the  look  that  she  had 
liked  but  had  never  seen  there  before;  the  look 
that  would  often  be  there  now. 

"  And  you  will  sever  your  relations  with  the 
Copelands  at  once?  That  is  right.  Miss  Kittie 
can  manage  very  well  with  the  maid  until  they 
get  to  Pasadena.  Now  that  the  main  point  is 
settled,  you  shall  have  your  own  way  in  all  minor 
ones.  You,  too,  are  different,  Fifine.  You,  too, 
have  passed  through  the  fire,  and  have  been  bet- 
370 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

tered  in  the  conflict.  Such  experiences  never  leave 
one  the  same.  Either  they  better,  or  they  em- 
bitter one.  And  how  well  you  speak  English. 
You  spoke  it  only  fairly  well  in  the  old  Paris 
days." 

"  To  be  a  nurse  I  had  to,  so  I  studied  hard.  I 
became  ambitious,  for  the  child's  sake. 

"  Larry,"  again  she  spoke  the  name  softly,  hesi- 
tatingly, still  as  if  fearing  to  take  a  liberty,  u  I 
will  go  back  to  Paris  to  the  little  one,  and  if,  in 
a  month,  you  write  for  me  to  come,  I  will  come. 
You  must  take  time  to  think  it  over,  and,  if  you 
still  think  this  may  be,  I  will  come.     I  promise." 

11 1  know  myself  well  enough  to  know  that  I 
will  think  the  same  in  a  month,  in  a  year,  in  a 
lifetime;  I  can  see  no  reason  for  delay.  But  I 
have  told  you  that  since  the  main  point  is  settled, 
I  will  yield  the  minor  ones.  I  will  do  as  you  de- 
sire. I  leave  all  to  you.  One  or  the  other  will 
have  to  go  for  the  boy.  Why  not  let  me  go  and 
bring  him,  in  your  stead?  You  stay  in  this  coun- 
try and  rest,  and  I  will  go." 

11  No,  Larry,  it  is  better  that  I  go.  He  may 
be  sick  in  traveling.  I  can  care  for  him  better. 
It  is  better  that  I  go." 

Branscombe  took  out  his  watch,  making  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise.    u  Two  o'clock !    What  can 
have  become  of  the  day !  " 
37i 


This  Labyrinthine   Life 

"  And  you  promised  to  call  on  Miss  Kittie  this 
morning,"  replied  Fifine,  upon  which  they  arose 
and  walked  back  toward  the  main  avenue,  still 
conversing,  the  grackles,  being  inquisitive  as  is  the 
nature  of  grackles,  following  closely,  in  the  effort 
to  ascertain  what  the  gentleman's  plans  were. 

They  learned  finally  that  he  would  not  call  on 
Miss  Kittie,  who,  to  the  grackle  comprehension, 
appeared  to  be  something  of  a  disturbing  element. 
He  would  write  her,  they  heard  him  say,  that  he 
had  been  prevented  from  calling  that  morning  by 
circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control,  and 
regretted  that  their  early  departure  would  prevent 
him  from  seeing  them  while  here,  but  that  he 
might  get  to  Los  Angeles  within  a  month  or  two, 
and  would  then  look  them  up. 

They  learned,  further,  that  the  lady  would 
probably  start  for  the  East  on  the  following  day; 
that  the  gentleman  would  arrange  about  the  ticket 
that  evening,  and  would  send  it  by  messenger  to 
the  hotel.  He  would  also  advise  her  by  telephone 
as  to  the  time  of  her  departure  and  other  details, 
and  would  be  at  the  depot  to  say  adieu. 


372 


CHAPTER    XXI 

BRANSCOMBE,  now  that  he  had  allowed 
his  mind  to  become  receptive  to  higher 
influences,  found  a  new  life  opening  out  before 
him  in  broad  vistas  of  usefulness — a  life  that  he 
saw  he  must  of  necessity  follow  now  that  he  had 
essayed  it — which  in  itself  would  be  his  reward. 

The  cause  of  the  unrest  and  discontent  which 
had  so  marred  his  course  heretofore  had  been 
largely  due  to  the  want  of  a  vocation.  His  life 
had  lacked  motive.  The  project  now  under  way 
supplied  this,  and  was  doing  as  much  for  him  as 
for  those  whom  he  sought  to  benefit.  There  was 
work  to  be  done  now,  work  of  a  kind  for  which 
he  felt  himself  well  fitted,  and  his  days  were  filled 
with  content. 

With  the  development  of  character  resulting 
from  a  mode  of  life  of  which  he  could  approve, 
he  found  his  horizon  constantly  growing  wider, 
his  mental  outlook  saner.  Incorporated  now  into 
this  throbbing  world-life,  on  which  hitherto  he 
had  gazed  only  from  afar,  having  felt  himself 
through  long  years  of  inaction  incapacitated  for 
373 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

it,  he  experienced  the  dignity  that  comes  through 
participation  in  it,  and  it  was  a  sensation  as  novel 
as  agreeable. 

Work,  achievement,  what  a  satisfaction  there 
was  in  it!  How  much  better  this,  he  thought, 
than  the  self-culture  which  in  the  old  Paris  days 
was  considered  everything,  which  his  associates 
continually  held  up  to  one  another  as  the  highest 
and  best  that  life  has  to  offer.  "  Art  (with  a 
capital  A)  must  be  your  mistress,  your  Alpha 
and  Omega.  You  had  but  to  follow  her  wherever 
she  might  lead,  and  so  attain  to  the  ideal  state. 
If  you  spent  your  whole  lifetime  in  painting  one 
good  picture,"  they  used  to  say,  "  or  in  doing  one 
bit  of  good,  lasting  work,  it  were  well  worth 
while." 

But  in  a  world  like  this,  in  which  the  tragedy 
of  it  is  continually  coming  to  the  fore,  self-culture, 
being  only  another  form  of  self-gratification, 
might  well  be  relegated  to  the  background  until 
some  other  and  more  necessary  things  be  achieved. 

This  was  the  burden  of  Branscombe's  thoughts, 
as  he  sat  before  his  tent  one  evening  in  early 
June,  after  a  particularly  busy  day.  The  evening 
hour,  given  over  to  contemplation  under  the  cot- 
tonwoods,  came  to  be  the  best  part  of  his  waking 
moments.  In  retrospect,  the  life  of  the  past 
months  since  coming  to  Arizona,  passed  before 
374 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

him.  It  was  as  if  his  intelligence  were  standing 
aside  from  that  ego  he  called  himself,  enabling 
him  to  see  and  judge  these  things  impersonally. 

How  his  viewpoint  had  changed  since  then! 
He  recalled  among  other  episodes,  the  incidents 
attending  young  Latimer's  hemorrhage,  and  the 
glow  of  gratification  that  had  suffused  his  being 
when  Fillmore  had  complimented  him  on  his 
prompt  action,  telling  him  that  he  had  saved  the 
young  fellow's  life  thereby.  Was  not  this  better 
than  painting  pictures  that  nobody  wanted  to  buy? 
In  these  beginnings,  forces  had  been  set  in  opera- 
tion which  had  brought  about  this  change  in  his 
mental  outlook.  For  it  was  only  by  taking  hold 
of  the  life,  by  identifying  himself  with  it,  that  he 
had  been  enabled  to  see  it  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  others. 

Branscombe  had  of  necessity  changed  his  plans 
as  regarded  California,  deciding  to  go  to  New 
York  instead,  where  he  would  transact  some  neces- 
sary business  and  await  the  arrival  of  Fifine  and 
the  boy.  They  would  then  proceed  leisurely  west- 
ward, stopping  at  Denver  en  route,  and  would 
reach  Arizona  some  time  in  September. 

He  wrote  the  Deacon,  telling  him  of  his  change 

of  plans :  "I  am  going  East  for  my  wife  and 

child,"  he  wrote,  "  on  account  of  which  I  will  be 

unable  to  come  on  to  the  Summer  Camp,  but  I  will 

375 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

return  in  September,  and  will  have  things  in  readi- 
ness for  you,  when  you  come  back.  The  ranch- 
house  will  be  reserved  for  you,  as  has  been  al- 
ready arranged,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  the 
prospect  of  securing  the  organ  position  for  your 
wife  seems  also  good.  The  salary  is  small,  (of 
this  salary  Branscombe  himself  was  to  pay  the 
larger  part)  but  with  the  pupils  that  she  will 
secure,  there  will  probably  be  enough  for  your 
needs.  The  studio,  elevation  drawings  of  which 
you  saw  prior  to  your  departure,  is  nearing  com- 
pletion. I  have  made  a  few  alterations  and  addi- 
tions to  the  original  plans,  putting  in  a  larger 
kitchen,  as  well  as  a  governess's  room.  For  the 
time  being,  we  shall  have  to  have  a  governess  to 
take  charge  of  our  child,  as  my  wife,  who  is  a 
graduated  trained  nurse,  will  take  an  active  part 
in  the  work  of  the  Camp." 

To  this  the  Deacon  returned  a  characteristic 
answer,  making  no  comment  on  his  partner's 
casual  reference  to  wife  and  child,  as  if  it  were 
quite  the  regular  thing  to  do,  to  spring  a  family 
onto  you  without  having  previously  given  you 
even  a  hint  of  their  existence  during  a  six  months' 
intimate  acquaintanceship. 

"  Dear  Padre,"  he  wrote,  "  we  are  comfortably 
settled  in  our  own  tent,  with  vines  and  fig-trees 
all  about.  Quite  singularly,  my  wife  (which  her 
376 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

name  is  AttilJa)  is  content  here.  Her  principal 
anxiety  on  coming  had  been  in  regard  to  sleeping 
out  of  doors,  as  she  is  quite  timid,  but  in  this 
hollow  of  the  hills,  in  which  we  are  tucked  away, 
we  all  feel  perfectly  safe.  We  are  forgotten  of 
the  world  here,  and  are  quite  content.  My  wife 
enjoys  sleeping  out  of  doors,  and  says  she  is  grow- 
ing younger  thereby.  This  rainless,  dewless  cli- 
mate of  the  California  foothills  is  ideally  adapted 
to  camping,  and  we  are  all  enjoying  it,  the  Lati- 
mer boys  in  particular.  They  contemplate  buying 
a  ranch  here  after  another  year.  They  are  our 
nearest  neighbors,  and  my  wife  is  greatly  interested 
in  them,  in  Percy  specially.  He  is  gradually  im- 
proving, but  is  not  yet  in  the  condition  he  was  in 
before  his  mishap.  They  have  accepted  a  very 
good  offer  for  their  San  Francisco  property,  which 
was  beyond  the  fire-zone,  and  they  expect  to  re- 
main here  permanently. 

"  You  know,  of  course,  that  White's  friend, 
Fullerton,  came  on  here  with  him?  Vent,  vidi, 
vici,  is  to  be  said  of  him!  Within  a  week  of 
making  his  appearance  in  the  Camp,  he  and  Miss 
Travis  went  to  Bakersfield  where  they  were  mar- 
ried, my  wife  and  I  going  along  to  assist  in  the 
ceremony.  The  happy  couple  (I  believe  that's 
the  way  they're  always  alluded  to  in  the  papers) 
are  at  present  in  Los  Angeles, — Mecca  for  all 
377 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

desert  sojourners, — but  are  expected  back  at  the 
Camp  almost  any  day  now.  Fullerton  will  remain 
a  few  weeks,  and  will  then  proceed  to  Bowlegs, 
leaving  his  wife  here  until  autumn.  My  tempera- 
ture has  got  around  to  normal  again  and  seems 
disposed  to  stay  there.  There  has  been  no  fluctu- 
ation for  the  past  two  weeks  and  for  the  first  time 
I'm  beginning  to  believe  that  I'll  pull  through." 

Forecasting  the  future,  as  was  his  wont,  Brans- 
combe's  thoughts  were  occupied  with  a  considera- 
tion of  the  results  that  might  be  obtained  next 
winter  when  the  Camp  would  be  in  good  working 
order.  If  circumstances  warranted  it,  he  would 
put  up  more  cottages,  so  as  to  have  fifty  people 
on  the  grounds.  To  keep  the  deficit  down  as 
much  as  possible  he  would  have  to  manage  the 
work  systematically,  in  a  businesslike  way,  as 
grandfather  Larrimore  had  managed  his  business. 
He  would  have  regular  bookkeeping,  with  monthly 
trial  balances;  his  purchases  must  be  made  in  the 
best  markets,  and  the  ranch  must  be  brought  to 
the  best  state  of  efficiency.  He  already  had  his 
cattle,  which  would  supply  the  milk  and  butter 
required  for  the  Camp.  His  incubators  were 
turning  out  chickens  by  the  hundreds,  many  of 
which  would  be  egg-producers  the  following  win- 
ter. There  was  a  competent  ranchman  in  charge, 
378 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

and  he  hoped  that  the  ranch  would  eventually  con- 
tribute most  of  the  supplies  required  for  the  table. 

He  always  believed  that  he  had  good  busi- 
ness talent;  that,  had  he  inherited  no  money,  had 
he  been  compelled  to  make  his  own  way,  he 
would  have  made  a  notable  success  as  a  business 
man.  Now  the  opportunity  was  given  him  of 
putting  the  matter  to  the  test;  for  this  Camp 
project  was  like  a  business,  the  management  of 
which  called  for  good  business  qualifications.  He 
was  put  on  his  mettle;  he  would  have  to  make  a 
good  showing  and  justify  his  opinion  of  himself. 

But  there  must  be  no  economies  which  would 
in  any  way  militate  against  securing  the  best  re- 
sults as  regards  the  health  of  the  invalids.  Their 
welfare  must  be  the  first  consideration.  Should 
the  deficit  prove  to  be  larger  than  he  could  meet, 
he  might  augment  his  income  by  engaging  in  some 
business,  placing  a  good  man  in  charge  of  the 
Camp. 

And  those  without  means  should  be  given  a 
chance.  It  might  happen  often  enough  that  the 
money  supply  of  one  or  the  other  would  be  tem- 
porarily cut  off.  In  many  cases  it  had  to  be  earned 
first  by  the  people  at  home.  There  was  a  case 
on  the  grounds  where  two  brothers  were  being 
supported  by  a  sister,  who  worked  at  dressmaking 
to  do  it. 

379 


This   Labyrinthine  Life 

Too  early  yet  to  make  plans  regarding  the  boy's 
career;  but  he  would  take  good  care  not  to  endan- 
ger it  by  leaving  him  too  much  money,  as  his  own 
had  been.  Larry  must  not  waste  his  best  years 
in  idleness  and  listlessness.  Better,  much  better, 
that  they  be  spent  in  achieving  a  competency  for 
himself. 

Something  which  gratified  Branscombe  at  this 
time  was  the  reports  which  came  to  him  regarding 
the  Blakeslee  painting,  which  he  had  sent  on  to 
Paris  to  the  Master.  In  reply  he  had  received  a 
few  lines  in  acknowledgment,  with  the  assurance 
that  it  would  be  hung  at  the  forthcoming  exhibi- 
tion of  the  Salon.  Then  had  come  press  notices, 
and  later  a  rapturous  letter  from  the  Master,  in 
French,  saying  that  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of 
to  allow  the  picture  to  leave  Paris,  and  would  not 
Monsieur  White  put  a  price  upon  it?  But  Mon- 
sieur White,  when  the  subject  was  broached  to 
him  at  the  Summer  Camp,  declined  the  proposi- 
tion, saying  he  did  not  care  to  profit  by  his  part- 
ner's gift.  "  This  art  of  water-color  is  too  rare 
as  yet  in  France,"  wrote  the  Master  in  a  subse- 
quent letter.  "It  is  a  most  exquisite  art — in  the 
right  hands  the  work  is  finer,  more  ethereal  than 
what  has  been  done  in  oil.  Such  subtlety  in  the 
merging  of  tones  I  have  never  yet  seen  as  is  ex- 
hibited in  this  picture.  We  must  be  permitted  to 
380 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

keep  it  a  while  longer  anyway."  The  matter  was 
finally  arranged  by  White  consenting  to  loan  the 
picture  indefinitely,  in  consideration  of  which  the 
Master  made  a  gift  of  money  to  the  Camp,  which 
sum  was  to  be  applied  toward  paying  the  board 
of  those  without  funds. 

Branscombe  spent  many  a  pleasant  hour  these 
June  evenings  under  the  cottonwoods,  his  thoughts 
intent  on  the  work  in  hand.  Yes,  he  would  make 
this  his  lifework!  It  had  already  brought  him 
content,  the  little  that  he  had  done.  And  his 
character  had  widened,  broadened,  in  the  doing 
of  it.  In  the  illumination  that  came  to  him 
through  helping  the  others  in  the  Camp,  he  first 
came  to  realize  the  duty  of  the  individual  to  the 
whole,  and  that  it  precedes  his  duty  to  himself. 
The  individualism  on  which  he  had  formerly  so 
prided  himself  seemed  now,  in  the  light  of  this 
new  knowledge  that  had  come  to  him,  only  an- 
other name  for  egotism  and  selfishness  leading 
nowhere. 

Civilization  itself,  he  came  to  see,  has  been 
achieved,  not  by  each  pursuing  low  and  personal 
aims,  but  rather  by  the  leading  spirits,  people  of 
genius,  discerning,  clear-sighted,  working  steadily 
for  the  uplifting  of  humanity,  contributing  their 
quota  toward  the  general  well-being,  relegating  to 
the  background  their  own  petty  personal  aims,  and 

381 


This  Labyrinthine  Life 

finding  their  felicity  in  doing  so.  So  would  it  be 
with  him.  At  last  he  was  on  the  right  road.  The 
inward  drama  had  come  to  an  end,  the  mentor  at 
his  elbow  silenced!  He  was  at  peace  with  him- 
self, at  peace  with  all  the  world.  He  felt  now, 
though  without  abatement  of  his  newly  acquired 
humility,  that  he  could  justify  his  existence.  Life 
at  last  had  found  a  meaning. 


382 


\.  -^  pi 


YB  32626 


